


Love and Regrets

by HaniTrash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, False Memories, HYDRA Trash Party - flashbacks, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovered Memories, Steve is a sulking Steveoppotamus, Why Can't I Write Fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18289133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash
Summary: A desperate, emotional confession from Steve sends Bucky reeling. Not fully understanding, he responds in the worst way possible, doing potentially irreparable damage to their friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

“Steve! Damn you, don’t you fucking die on me! Do you hear me?”

Steve did hear, distantly, although he couldn’t easily answer. The punctured lung on one side and shattered ribs on the other made speaking rather difficult, seeing as he could barely breathe and all. Not that it mattered. He didn’t even know who was talking to him anyway.

“You’re not allowed to leave me, this is _not_ the end of the line, you punk.”

Oh. It’s Bucky speaking.

“Buck...” he tries to say, and it rasps from his throat, burning, everything hurts, but Bucky is here, and that’s good, but he has to tell him, because he’s wrong, this time might really be the end of the line, and he needs to know, Steve needs to tell him…

“What the hell were you thinking? Even Captain America can’t stop a fleet of tanks equipped with Hydra weapons.”

“Do this … all … day,” he wheezed, which led to a coughing fit, which didn’t really go very well for his battered lungs.

“Buck,” he gasped, after spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“I’m here, Steve. I’m here. Not going anywhere. Not without you. Just take it easy. The jet is on its way to evac you. You’re going to be fine.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm—his real arm, needed to feel _him_ , touch him one last time—as tightly as he could. Metal fingers threaded through Steve’s hair—he’d long since lost his helmet at some point during the fight—and their eyes met. Steve could see the fear that Bucky was trying to hide. He didn’t even bother telling Bucky that he couldn’t feel his legs, that his spine was snapped. Between internal and external blood loss, and lack of oxygen, nothing would matter in a few minutes. Except this.

“Love you, Bucky.”

Tears broke free, spilling down Bucky’s cheeks, and Steve brought his other arm up, grunting with the effort to hold Bucky, pull him closer.

“Stevie,” he started, but Steve cut the words off as he pressed his mouth to Bucky’s.

“Love you,” he said again, breathless, as his head swam and he allowed the darkness to take him.

 

****

 

Some part of Bucky’s mind—the Asset part of him, the bits that lingered, the parts that they hadn’t undone yet—was aware that everyone was watching them, watching _him_ , but he didn’t care. He was enough Bucky these days—most days, most of the time—that the sight of a broken Steve gutted him.

A quick assessment and he lay Steve down— _wait, why is his body moving like this, what happened?_ —to take action. He couldn’t do chest compressions because of the obviously broken ribs, but he could force air into lungs that couldn’t breathe on their own. Besides, he could still hear Steve’s heart beating, weak as it was. He let the tears flow, and they mixed with the blood and dirt on Steve’s cheeks, smearing his own. He let the words fall from his lips, lips that now tasted of copper, that were now stained with the blood of his best friend. _“Don’t die, don’t you dare, don’t you leave me, I love you too, I love you Stevie, please stay with me, please please please, I need you, I love you, stay...”_ until he broke down, sobbing into Steve’s mouth, no longer effectively inflating his lungs, too overcome to think rationally. Words he couldn’t be sure if he’d ever spoken before, but they felt right, and if Steve was going to use his last conscious breath to say them to Bucky, then Bucky would say them back.

Jet engines overhead— _too long_ , he thought, _they took too long_ , even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—erased any further sound, and Bucky let Natasha pull him back. Okoye and a few other members of the Dora Milaje strapped Steve to a stretcher and rushed him to the jet. He and Natasha jumped aboard just as the ramp was closing, barely making it to a seat before the pilot took off. Through the window, Bucky saw the remaining fighters— _too small of a crew, how was our intel so bad? We barely won, even with Steve and I—_ going through everything, and knew they’d be checking for survivors, destroying Hydra weapons and property, and gathering evidence to report back to T’Challa and, potentially, pass along to Rhodes and the remaining Avengers. After all, it was a former SHIELD base, it was the least they could do.

Bucky made his way to Steve’s side as the plane leveled out.

“Why isn’t he healing?” he asked of nobody in particular, his voice thick with emotion. Above Steve, an image flickered to life, a scan of his body. Several injuries were cataloged and highlighted—the ribs, the abrasions and cuts on his arms, but Bucky found himself staring at the lower half of the 3-D rendering.

The entire thing was red.

“What does that mean?” he demanded, even though he knew the answer. Rage flooded his system. He wanted to punch something, go back to the fight and raze the compound to the ground, not stop until every single Hydra agent and outpost and piece of equipment was destroyed, erased from the face of the planet. Hydra had broken him, what they’d done to him was bad enough, but not Steve, not Steve, not his Stevie, not the one good thing left in this world that made his life worth living and fighting for…

“Stand down, Soldier!”

It was a direct order, one that cut through the haze of red in his blurred vision. Bucky—and he _was_ Bucky, he _was_ , but he’d slipped, his mind had shifted for just a moment there—blinked several times and sucked in a deep breath. Natasha stood between him and Steve, a taser pressed into the side of his neck. He could feel the sparking of the prongs, the barely contained energy within, could see the cold resolve in her eyes. He un-clenched his fists and relaxed his posture. But he didn’t step away, he wouldn’t until she did, her actions were the signal to the others that he was okay, not his actions, never _his_ , because he wasn’t all _fixed_ yet, he couldn’t be trusted, not completely.

“Sorry.”

And he was, he hated when he slipped, though the triggers were few and far between now, hated when he scared the people around him, people who were helping him. People he’d call friends in another life, but they couldn’t hide the cautious fear in their eyes or their stance when he slipped. Except Natasha, she never flinched, she knew, she understood the war in his head. He swallowed hard and looked back at the image floating in the air, at the glaring mass of red that shouldn’t be there.

“Hey,” she said softly, her free hand cupping his face and forcing him to look at her as the taser was returned to a pouch on her waist. “We’re almost there. Shuri and the doctors can fix this. They will. He’s going to be okay.”

He felt tears threatening again and blinked them away, jaw set firmly as he nodded. An alarm, something, chimed behind her and he looked over her shoulder. Bucky’s breath came easier as he watched Steve’s do the same, the nanotech doing its job and helping ribs return to their rightful place, lungs expand, and the pressure on the heart— _his_ heart, in Steve’s body, the reason he fought so damn hard, because if that heart stopped, _Bucky’s_ heart would stop—easing. Red spots turning yellow turning green as parts of Steve healed, breathing evened out, heartbeat steadied.

But not the biggest injury.

Bucky would love Steve no matter what, as long as those blue eyes opened again that’s all he cared about, he knew that, but Steve didn’t deserve this, not after everything he’d been through.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and took a cautious step toward Steve, not wanting to worry the women attending to him, tapping away at screens, in constant conversation with Shuri back in her lab.

“Can I?” he asked, reaching for Steve’s hand and stopping just shy of touching. Okoye looked up, and he didn’t miss how her eyes flicked to Natasha for confirmation before she met his gaze. Okoye was nearly as protective of Steve as she was of T’Challa, and Bucky knew that she still didn’t approve of him walking around not fully de-programmed.

She gave a slight nod. “Yes.”

Bucky appreciated her concern, her training, her mistrust. He’d do the same, in her position.

He fell to his knees beside the table and took Steve’s hand—cold, it was so cold, and Steve was never cold, was his body going into shock?—and pressed his lips to the back before wrapping his hands around it.

“I’m here, Stevie. I’m here,” he whispered.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Shuri’s best efforts, she could not keep Bucky away from Steve. He’d stood in the corner of the room as they assessed the injuries and set the machines to work. The second they’d stepped away, he’d grabbed a chair and placed it next to the table and planted himself to the spot and hadn’t moved or taken his eyes off Steve.

That had been eleven hours ago.

Three hours ago, the display on the monitors had chimed as Steve’s legs finally turned from red to yellow.

“Eh, puppy dog, he will wake soon. You go on.”

Bucky said nothing, just sat holding Steve’s hand.

“You really think that when he opens his eyes he wants to see your ugly face? You are caked in dried blood and dirt. I can’t sort your injuries from the mess. And you are stinking up my lab. Go take a bath. I cannot concentrate with you sitting here brooding.”

Of course, Shuri hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen what had happened.

“My injuries are healed already,” he forced out from a parched throat. He didn’t know the last time he’d eaten or drank something, he often forgot still unless someone—usually Steve—reminded him.

“Oh, it does speak!”

For the first time since he’d sat down, Steve’s hand twitched in his and Bucky sat forward, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, the residual soreness from sitting so long after a fight while he healed.

Steve’s eyes remained closed, though his face took on a pained expression as the digital image of his body turned completely green.

“He is not fully conscious yet,” Shuri announced softly from Bucky’s side as she tapped at screens and displays. “The last of the neuro pathways has healed and reconnected to his brain. He experienced a surge of pain as this happened, unfortunately.”

Bucky gently smoothed the hair from Steve’s forehead—it was nearly as long as his own now if Steve didn’t brush it back—and feathered a kiss to his temple.

“I’m here, Steve. Everything is going to be fine. You’re okay,” he murmured.

Bucky felt the weight of Shuri’s stare, but she thankfully remained silent. Bucky actually liked her, found her company enjoyable. It was difficult to remain in a bad mood around her youthful exuberance and ready smile, and God knew he’d seen enough darkness to last several lifetimes.

Above him, the monitor showed Steve’s heart rate settling as the last of the injuries healed. Below him—he was still bent over Steve’s body—Steve’s chest heaved as he took a deep breath. Slowly his eyes opened, blinked a few times as they focused on Bucky hovering above him. His hand tightened around Bucky’s.

“Buck?”

“Hey.”

Steve’s eyes flicked over Bucky’s face.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now. You scared me there, punk.” Before Steve could reply, Bucky kissed him. A real kiss, not the desperate pressing of lips to one another that they’d shared earlier, but something softer, full of feelings and emotions that Bucky barely recognized and didn’t know how to express. When they finally parted, Steve’s free hand was fisted in the hair at the back of Bucky’s head. His face, however, had turned scarlet.

“Bucky,” he said, his voice full of embarrassment and admonition.

“Well, _that_ was awkward.” Sam’s voice came from the doorway, and though Bucky didn’t think it was possible, Steve’s face flamed even darker.

“God, I hate you, Bird-man,” Bucky grumbled.

“Hello, I’m still here too! Now get away so I can check on him.” Shuri tugged on the back of his vest, dragging him from Steve. Bucky returned to his chair, loath to relinquish his hold on Steve’s hand.

“Eh, milkshake brain, back it up, you. He’s awake. It’s my turn to hover now. You can have him back in a minute.” She waved her hands at him in a shooing manner.

From the doorway, Sam gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, your new code name is _so_ going to be milkshake. I love it.”

Steve met his eyes and squeezed his hand. “Go get cleaned up. I’m okay.”

****

 

Steve endured what felt like ages of poking and prodding from Shuri before she would let him leave.

“You are not listening to me. You are thinking about your pretty boyfriend and that kiss he gave you in front of everyone.”

“I am too listening. Take it easy and rest for a few days. Which you already know I’m too stubborn to listen to. And I am _not_ thinking about him.”

“Uh huh. Sure you’re not.” She flicked her eyes down his body and he felt his cheeks flame. He’d forgotten he was wearing a thin tunic and not regular clothing that would help to hide certain … conditions. Shuri laughed as she turned back to her workstation. “Go on then. Go see him. I expect you to come here tomorrow for a check-up. Sam, you help him, yes? Good.”

Sam stood nearby, ready to offer support if needed, but not so close that he appeared to be hovering. Steve appreciated the difference.

“Where we heading?”

“My place. I need to change, I hate walking around in these things.”

“Feeling a bit _exposed_ , are we?”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Sam, who tried in vain to erase the grin from his face.

“Look, man, it’s cool with me. To be honest, I’ve been wondering when y’all were gonna just tell us. And I’m not the only one.”

“Not the—? What? Why is everyone so concerned with my love life? Its existence or not is none of anyone else’s business!” He paused for a minute as they entered the elevator to take them back to the surface. “And who—? You guys all seriously think we’re a couple?”

“You tryin’ to tell me that you’re _not_? Because what I saw _definitely_ looked like couple status to me. According to Tasha, he was a blabbering mess over the earpieces while waiting for your evac. ‘Course, he prolly forgot about them when he was trying to keep you breathing and doing CPR on your dumb ass.”

Steve almost wished he hadn’t woken up. Or maybe he hadn’t, and somewhere along the line he’d done something really wrong, and he was in hell. And if he wasn’t dead, perhaps it was possible to die of mortification. Because this went beyond embarrassment. He wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the face ever again.

He didn’t think it could get worse. Until he reached his door and grimaced.

“What the hell is that?” Sam’s face mirrored his.

“Bucky,” Steve said with a sigh. “He loves this stuff.”

Sam stared in horror at the closed door, which did little to contain the K-Pop music blaring inside Steve’s apartment.

“ _Why?_ ” The word was drawn out, Sam’s eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion.

“I don’t have a fucking clue.”

“Did you—? Did you just—? You swore! Holy crap. Nobody is going to believe me.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes there are extenuating circumstances in which a well-placed profanity can actually be appropriate.”

“Like K-Pop?”

“Definitely like K-Pop,” Steve agreed, laughing. “I have to go put on some Billie Holiday just to cleanse my ears.”

“Please do. For all of us.” Sam started to leave, and Steve called out to him.

“Hey, Sam? Do me a favor?” he asked, face turning serious.

“Don’t worry, man. Not a word.” Sam clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It’s not my place. That’s on you two.”

“Thanks.”

He waited until Sam had turned the corner before turning to face his door, and the man inside. He had no idea what to say to Bucky.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“What have I told you about playing this stuff in here?” Steve yelled as he entered, wincing as the full volume of it hit him once he opened the door.

“Dude, you have a better sound system than me.”

“You don’t even _have_ a sound system, jerk!” He grinned, trying to imagine the reaction of the goats to K-Pop blaring from Bucky’s tent.

Bucky turned the music down before appearing shirtless in the doorway. His feet were bare, but he clearly hadn’t showered yet, as he still wore his tactical pants. Steve was about to ask why when the smell of food cooking reached him.

“I realized that it had been two days since I’ve eaten. And then I thought that you might be hungry too. So I thought I’d make something first before I cleaned up.”

Bucky had discovered—remembered?—his love for cooking, and since he was far better at it than Steve, he certainly wasn’t about to complain about the mess that his kitchen was likely to be now.

“What are we having?”

“Well, it has to simmer for a bit before it’s ready. That’s why I started it now. But I was happily surprised to find everything to make chili. I’m almost done.”

Steve felt himself blushing again.

“Well, it’s your favorite, and your birthday is next week,” he stammered.

Bucky’s face lit up.

“You were going to make me chili for my birthday?”

“I was going to try,” Steve admitted with a laugh. “But yours is probably much better.”

“Aww, Stevie. Thank you.” Bucky closed the distance between them and held Steve’s face gently, forcing him to make eye contact. “How do you feel?”

“A bit unsteady,” he admitted. “I should probably sit for a few minutes.” His legs still felt tingly, like the pins and needles prickling that would come after sitting in one position for too long. But instead of a foot, or half a leg, his entire body from the waist down was waking up and protesting being used.

Bucky immediately ushered Steve into the kitchen and plopped him down on a stool at the island before returning to the stove. A large pot already had the tomatoes, sauce, beans and seasonings cooking, while two equally large pans filled the rest of the stove, one to saute peppers and onions, and the other browning the meat.

“If I tried to do all of that at once I’d burn everything,” Steve joked.

“Hell yeah you would. Remember that awful spaghetti in a can stuff you used to buy? And the time you burned it so bad that you had to throw out the pot?” Bucky said, laughing like a fool.

“Oh man, I was so mad at myself, too, because I didn’t have the money for another pot.”

“And then you got mad at me for getting you one.”

Steve smiled fondly, fighting back tears. He didn’t know how many of Bucky’s original memories remained, so when Bucky brought up something like this at random, it always made his heart ache with joy.

They shared a long look before Bucky added everything to the pot and turned the burner to low.

“Steve, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly, leaning his back against the counter next to Steve.

“Tell you what?” he deflected, still not ready for this conversation.

“About your feelings.”

Steve cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I didn’t … I didn’t want to pressure you. Didn’t want you to feel obligated. You have enough other things to deal with. You need to focus on healing, on yourself, not on me.”

“Oh, and what, you thought telling me with what could have been your dying breath would be better? That that wouldn’t fuck me up royally?”

Steve sighed. “I know, that was selfish. I just...”

“Heat of the moment?” Bucky suggested, and there was an undertone to his voice that Steve couldn’t identify or explain.

“Yeah, something like that.” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and looked up at Bucky sheepishly. “So now what?”

Bucky cleared his throat and looked away. For half a second, Steve thought he saw hurt in the stormy depths.

“Well, I _really_ need a shower.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. I was thinking about that too. I know Shuri’s lab isn’t like any hospital that we’re used to but...”

“You always come out of there feeling like you smell like one. Feeling too clinical and chemical.”

“Yeah.” He was happy that Bucky understood, even if his voice was now edged with a cool tone that he didn’t understand. “I’m just not sure I feel up to it right now. I just wanted to get out of there, and I’m sure she knew I was lying, but my legs still feel really shaky.”

“Hey, it’s not like we didn’t shower together enough in the army, right? C’mon, I’ll help you. They gave you the King Kong sized apartment since you’re so huge, your shower can easily accommodate us both.”

Steve swallowed down his sudden nervousness. Bucky wasn’t wrong, they’d seen each other naked plenty of times. But Steve had changed everything between them now, and he suddenly didn’t know how to act around him.

“Sure. Let’s go,” he said, letting Bucky take his hand and tug him towards the bathroom.

He tried his best to act as if everything was fine, but his stomach was in knots as he watched the water run down Bucky’s body. He forced himself to keep his eyes above Bucky’s waist, and not think about the possibilities for the future now. He was in no rush, they still had things to discuss about what Bucky may or may not remember regarding the nature of their relationship and just the thought of it made him feel awkward.

He turned into the water, ducking under the spray of the second shower head, bracing his hands against the wall and keeping his distance from his best friend.

“Stevie, I’m not going to bite. You don’t have to stay so far away.”

Before he could reply, Bucky’s hand was splayed across his lower back. Steve closed his eyes, breathing deeply through parted lips.

“Bucky...”

It was only one word, just his name, whispered, full of longing and desire and hesitation and all the conflicting emotions that Steve had never given voice to. This was torture, pure and simple. And he was the one holding the knife to his own throat. He was the one who’d remained silent all this time, just wanting his friend back, swallowing his own emotions and desires for the better of others, just like always.

Steve turned his head to the side, looking at Bucky through the curtain of his hair as it fell down over his face. Everything he’d been afraid to hope for was standing not even a foot away, something no longer forbidden, no longer illicit, no longer a secret to be protected above all else.

Metal fingers, surprisingly nimble, dexterous, not the silver that Hydra had given him but now black shot through with gold, tucked the hair behind his ear.

“I’m here, Steve. I’m here for you, for us. We’re in this together, right? Til the end of the line, Steve. That was our vow to each other. You know what it meant, what we weren’t allowed to say out loud back then. Damn it, we can say it now. I love you too, you big idiot.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into the caress, let Bucky turn him, let his heart soar as their lips met, bodies met, arms circled waists and shoulders, hips rocked against hips, shaft rubbed against shaft until they were both aching with need.

They broke for air, both of them panting, and Steve continued to press small kisses to any part of Bucky he could, desperate and terrified all at once, his body and his brain at war.

“God, Steve, I’ve been wanting this since you found me in Bucharest.”

His back met the wall as Bucky worked his way down Steve’s body. He shuddered, nearly losing it when Bucky’s mouth closed around him, the sensation altogether new and wondrous and overwhelming. Fingertips teased at his hole, pushing inside as Steve gasped.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Bucky...”

Bucky rose, reclaiming Steve’s mouth. Firm hands grabbed his ass and lifted him, and Steve’s legs wrapped around Bucky for support.

“Yes?” Bucky breathed against his mouth, the word barely a question. He nipped his bottom lip and Steve felt the head of Bucky’s cock press against him where he was spread apart.

“Wait, we should—”

“The bed can wait for later,” Bucky growled. “I can’t.”

Before Steve could say another word, that they needed to discuss this, there were things Bucky didn’t seem to understand, Bucky surged forward, driving himself inside Steve. He cried out at the pain from the sudden and rough entry, and dug his fingers into Bucky’s shoulders hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, Stevie, you feel so good.”

Steve couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the wall. So what if maybe this wasn’t how he’d pictured it happening, how he’d hoped for it to go. The point was, it _was_ happening, finally. And yeah, it did feel good now that he’d started moving. It felt _damn_ good to have Bucky inside him, driving deep with every thrust, rubbing against his prostate and sending fire through his system.

Besides, he’d heal quickly enough from any damage done.

“Come, Steve. Come for me, because I’m not going to last much longer. Been waiting too long for this.”

Warm fingers wrapped around Steve, working him, up and down, in sync with the frenzied pace at which Bucky fucked him.

“Bucky!” Steve cried, breathless, his back arching away from the wall as he felt his body explode in pleasure, all over Bucky’s hand and coating his stomach.

Bucky followed almost immediately, groaning as he tensed in Steve’s arms, buried to the hilt inside him, filling him as his body twitched and spasmed his own release. They remained locked together for a moment, Bucky’s head buried in Steve’s neck, as they regained their breath. Eventually he slid from Steve’s body, drawing another shuddering breath from Steve as he returned to standing, still clutching Bucky for steadiness and support. Bucky held the back of Steve’s neck and put their foreheads together.

“Christ, Steve. This all feels so right. But why can’t I remember it? I can remember every goddamned horrific thing that Hydra did to me and made me do, but my life before is so full of holes. I remember bits of you and me and growing up and the war and being in love with you. But why can’t I remember _us_? Ever since you kissed me yesterday it felt like a part of me had finally clicked back into place. I searched for the memories that must have been there, remembered so many intimate moments that hinted at something more, but I couldn’t remember the feel of you in my arms.”

The pain in his voice was like a knife to Steve’s heart. He swallowed hard, fearful of speaking the words, but determined not to lie to Bucky—his best friend, his soulmate, the man he loved more than anything else in this world. Slowly, he pulled back enough to meet his eyes.

“Because there’s nothing to remember. _There was no_ _us_. We loved each other, yes. But not like this.”

“I don’t understand. What about during the war? Before I fell? We were together then, I remember it, the times we’d sneak off and...” Bucky trailed off as Steve stared at him in utter confusion. “Oh God no. _No_. Steve,” he whispered. “Please tell me. Please don’t lie to me. Please tell me they didn’t...”

“I’d never lie to you, Bucky. But we’ve never done this before. _I’ve_ never done this before. With anyone. Male _or_ female.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky recoiled in terror, taking a step back in his shock. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he stared at Steve in disbelief.

“But—I mean—but I thought... _never_?”

Steve held his head high, challenge in his eyes.

“It would have been you, if you hadn’t joined the army. Or Peggy, then, I’d have married her if given half the chance. After I came out of the ice, well, dating isn’t exactly easy when you’re Captain America and the whole world knows what you’re doing two seconds after you do it. So no, I’ve never had sex before.”

“Until just now, when I forced myself on you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t I? You never said yes. I was operating under the assumption that we’d done this before, that it would be okay. Fuck’s sake, Steve, why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you say something sooner? I thought you—” Bucky felt as though he was about to puke as he remembered Steve saying _‘wait, we should..._ ’ and he’d completely ignored it. How nervous and uncomfortable Steve had seemed, and Bucky had written it off to the injury. Miscommunications aside, he’d essentially just raped Steve.

All because he still couldn’t trust his own mind.

He was no better than what Hydra had made him. No better than the men who’d done the same to him.

“Bucky,” Steve said, reaching for him.

He retreated further, shaking off the hand on his arm. Bucky clenched his jaw, fought back the tears. But he couldn’t swallow the guilt that threatened to drown him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Steve. Please believe that I love you. I never wanted to hurt you.” He bolted from the shower, snatching the tunic from the floor as he ran through the apartment and for the balcony. Steve’s apartment faced the jungle. Even if it was a bit far off, Bucky could clear the trees in no time.

Then he’d be among the wild animals. Where he belonged.

Behind him, he heard Steve following him through the apartment, calling after him. He eyeballed the drop zone and vaulted over the rail, crashing into the ground several stories below. Bucky groaned at the impact, taking half a second to breathe through the pain before rolling to his feet.

“Bucky, please,” he heard and looked up. Steve was at the railing, arm extended down towards him. He was fairly certain that Steve wouldn’t make the jump, not injured, and definitely not while still naked. Of course, he’d been seriously wrong about him once today already. Steve’s eyes were pained, he looked broken, and it was Bucky’s fault.

“I’m sorry, Steve. But it’s better this way.”

He turned and ran, heedless of his bare feet and the curious glances from onlookers.

 

****

 

Steve fell to the floor, huddled naked in the corner of the balcony, head and arms on his knees as tears ran freely and silent sobs shook his shoulders. He didn’t know how long he was there, only that when he opened his eyes the sun was breaking over the horizon and he was horribly uncomfortable from sleeping on the hard stone of the balcony.

Against any real hope, he checked to see if Bucky had come back. He already knew he hadn’t, because there was no way he’d have left Steve out there all night, but it didn’t stop him. Steve threw some clothes on and headed out. He wasn’t about to let Bucky run away again. Not now. He couldn’t survive another several years apart.

It took longer than he’d have liked for him to reach Bucky’s tent, but with his back and legs still barely healed—not to mention having slept curled in such a tight position—he wasn’t moving all that easily or quickly. He was nearly there when he caught sight of Redwing, Sam’s little flying drone. With a sigh, he stopped walking.

“I’m fine, Sam. Please, leave me be.”

The stupid thing didn’t move.

“I will see Shuri later as requested. Go.” Without another word, he stalked past it and continued on his way. His stomach twisted when he crested the hill and spotted the top canvas of Bucky’s tent, and he said a silent prayer that he’d actually be there.

“Bucky?” he called out quietly as he reached the flap and pushed the material aside. “Bucky, please, we need to talk.”

Steve’s heart sank as he took in the sight before him.

The bed, neatly made, clearly unused, items strewn across it.

Winter Soldier items.

There was a box beneath Bucky’s bed, now empty and tossed aside, that contained scraps from before. They’d sat together on that bed and rehashed a thousand different events together as Bucky worried an item or two between his hands. A notebook—now missing—full of memories and nightmares that Bucky wrote down in an attempt to piece together his life, sort fact from fiction, sort Bucky from The Asset. Gear—gloves, goggles, face mask, all accounted for. Vest and a multitude of knives, missing.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve whispered, sitting among the mess. He picked up the mask, turning it over in his hands. He knew the longer he stayed here, the further ahead of him Bucky got. He also knew if Bucky didn’t want to be found, it wouldn’t be an easy task. Especially if he thought he was protecting Steve by staying away.

Steve stretched out across the bed, putting his head on Bucky’s pillow, breathing in the residual scent, listening to the wildlife around him. He understood why Bucky liked it here. It was quiet, peaceful, the perfect place for a tumultuous mind to rest. And it was remote enough that if Bucky had a nightmare or slipped, the risk of hurting innocent bystanders was as low as it could possibly get. Steve wasn’t sure he could ever get used to _so much_ quiet, but he certainly saw the appeal to being alone.

Some time later, the sound of an approaching vehicle woke him. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, and a quick glance at his wrist confirmed his suspicion that he’d missed his visit with Shuri. Steve didn’t want whoever was here to come inside, so he made himself get up and go to the door. Of course it was Sam.

“I suppose you know why I’m here.” Sam hopped down and came towards Steve, stopping a few paces away.

“Yeah. Lost track of time. Sorry.”

Sam eyed Steve’s face and flicked his eyes to the empty tent behind him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

One corner of Sam’s mouth tipped up in a wry grin.

“Didn’t think so,” he said with a sigh, dropping his arms from where he’d crossed them over his chest. “C’mon. Shuri ain’t gonna leave me alone til I get your butt in the lab. Unless you want Tasha down here too.”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. He turned and scanned the treeline behind Bucky’s tent.

“Hey, listen. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure he’ll be back. His episodes don’t last that long anymore, you know that.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“It wasn’t an episode. He didn’t slip. He thinks he...” Steve paused, swallowed hard at the memory and chose his words carefully. “That he made a mistake...and that he’s...protecting me...by...staying away.”

He felt the weight of Sam’s stare.

“He’s met you, right? Doesn’t he realize that’s pointless? That you’re too stubborn to let him get away with that?”

Steve exhaled a soft breath, a half-hearted laugh at Sam’s words, and stared hard at a deep shadow. He couldn’t see him, but he was sure Bucky was there, watching him.

“Maybe I need to let him win this time.”

“You tellin’ me that _Captain America_ is backing down from a fight?”

“Not Captain America. Just a skinny little kid from Brooklyn who needs to trust his best friend.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Steve tried to sleep, knew he needed to. But sleep evaded him as he worried and wondered about Bucky. In the pre-dawn light following his second night of not sleeping, and his second day of no contact from Bucky, Steve stumbled into Bucky’s tent and flopped face-first onto the bed. He’d tried to avoid coming here, didn’t want to scare Bucky away if he was lingering close by. But he was going crazy without having Bucky around. They were all but joined at the hip since Shuri had woken Bucky, and the sudden loss was devastating. The familiar scents comforted him, and he finally succumbed to the exhaustion riding him.

He woke to find his boots off and a blanket covering him.

“Bucky?” Steve called, jumping to his feet and looking around hopefully.

“Not exactly. Just as deadly, though.”

Steve deflated.

“Hi Natasha. I didn’t miss any appointments. What do you want?”

“Well, you certainly know how to make a girl feel welcome. And yes, you did, because you slept for a full twenty-four hours.”

Steve looked outside at the bright sunlight.

“I’d say probably a bit more than that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching at the now several days’ worth of beard growth there.

Natasha suddenly narrowed her eyes and studied Steve. Even without a mirror handy, Steve had a good idea of what she was looking at.

“You’re coming back with me to eat and bathe. In that order.”

“You know what, I don’t think I am.”

In another time and place, the shock on Natasha’s face would have been priceless. Here and now though, Steve didn’t even bother to appreciate that he’d managed to surprise her.

“I literally just woke up, for starters. And I can eat here. Please leave me be, Natasha. I don’t want company right now. And tell Sam to stop following me around, too.”

Natasha sat back as Steve stormed from the tent barefoot. It still felt weird to call it a tent, even though that’s what it was. It had a solid wooden floor, which housed a silent generator that powered all the conveniences of a modern (or ultra-modern, in the Wakandan sense) home. He had lights, a fridge, a stove, and Bucky’s laptop, everything he could need or want without having to live in the city proper. He still hadn’t figured out how they’d managed running water this far out, but assumed they’d tapped into the stream nearby.

That stream is where Steve now headed. It wasn’t large enough to be considered a river, but it was deep and fast moving and clear, and—most importantly—not where Natasha was. He stripped off his shirt and dove in, gasping for breath when he finally broke back through the surface of the bracing water. Everyone seemed to think Steve—and Bucky, too—had an aversion to cold water, when in fact it was the opposite. All too often, they’d taken tepid or downright cold baths, as heating the water was a luxury that cost money they didn’t have, even with their combined incomes. And forget hot showers in the army. So despite the fact that he’d been frozen, and all the numerous times Bucky had gone under, a cold bath or shower still cleared his head better than a hot one.

He rolled onto his back, laying on the large, flat boulder he and Bucky had managed to place just out of the main current. Even together, it had been a struggle, but it had been exhilarating to move such a heavy object with just their own strength. They’d submerged it at an angle just below the surface, deep enough to soak their bodies, but close enough at the top to keep their heads clear, and wide enough for them both to lay on together.

Eyes closed, Steve let his mind drift.

_ “Buck, it’ll be okay, I’ll just take a quick sponge bath.” _

_ “The hell you will. The steam will help you. You need to soak in a hot bath.” _

_ “But all that water...” Steve stopped talking as another coughing fit wracked his tiny frame. _

_ “We’ll worry about that when the bill comes. Stop arguing with me and fill the damn tub, Steve.” _

_ Too tired to fight, he climbed into the steaming water. Bucky held him up as he struggled to breathe, thanks to the influenza. When he was done, Bucky wrapped him in a towel and carried him to the bed, piling all their blankets on him and spooning in behind, adding his warmth to help ease Steve’s chills. _

_ “Buck, don’t get too close, I don’t want you to get sick, too.” _

_ “Pfft. I won’t get any sleep listenin’ to your teeth rattle all night. Better to take the chance and warm you up.” _

_ “You’re such a jerk.” _

_ Steve could feel Bucky’s smile against his shoulder. _

_ “And you love me anyway, punk.” _

Steve absently wiped away the tears as he sat up.

“Always, Bucky. You and me. Til the end of the line,” he whispered.

He let his head hang, elbows propped on his knees. He watched the water swirl around him, bubbling and spinning, trying to empty his head and stop thinking about Bucky. About how it had felt to kiss him,  _ really  _ kiss him, to be in his arms, finally, finally together the way they’d always wanted...

“You’re going to freeze to death in that water.”

Steve closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight in frustration, and took a deep breath before he responded to Sam’s disembodied voice.

“Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt and the unresolved PTSD, remember?”

“Did—did you—did you just  _ sass me? _ ”

“I’m gonna do more than that if you don’t get that thing outta my face. I’m fine. Quit spying on me.”

“Tasha wants to know if you’ve eaten yet. You’ve been sittin’ on that rock for about four hours now, near as I can tell. I’m not interested in getting punched in the face, so I’m not coming down there to talk in person.”

“And what do you think I’ll do to your drone? How well do you think it’ll hold up to me throwing a rock at it?”

“Aw, c’mon man, that’s not nice.”

“I don’t much feel like being nice right now. I came down here to be left alone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That means leave, Sam.”

“You gonna get out of the water and go eat?”

Steve stood and stared at Redwing. Slowly and deliberately, he flipped it off before diving into the water and swimming away downstream.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve swam until his arms ached and his lungs burned with the exertion. He was smart enough to have not gone too far downstream, knowing he’d have to fight the current the whole way back, and he really did need to eat, no matter how stubborn he was being. He was fighting with his friends for the sake of fighting, because he was hurting. It wasn’t fair to them, and even though he was aware of his behavior, he made no moves to change it.

Exhausted, he dragged himself from the water and collapsed in the grass, head spinning from overextending himself, pushing too far past his limits.

He was sure he was hallucinating when he saw Bucky’s face looming over his.

“What am I gonna do with you, huh? How many times I gotta save your dumb punk ass?”

Steve smiled as he floated in Bucky’s arms, the long grasses tickling his bare torso.

When he opened his eyes next, he was on Bucky’s bed, in dry clothes and under the blanket again.

Slowly he sat upright, scanning the dimly lit interior. He was alone. His searching ended at the table, and the items that had appeared there. Crossing the short distance, he found some of the power bars that Bucky liked, along with a note.

 

> _Eat some damn food, would ya? Don’t make me kick your ass. If I find you doing this again we’re gonna have a problem. Having to protect you from me is one thing. I don’t want to have to protect you from yourself, too._

 

Steve smiled sadly. “You didn’t need to leave, Buck,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I swear it’s not as bad as you think.” He took a sip of the water left for him also, grimacing at the taste of the supplements in it. It was a special blend SHIELD had created for Steve to help sustain his enhanced system so that he didn’t need to eat constantly to get the needed calories. Shuri had recreated and improved it for he and Bucky both to drink, and hers tasted better than the previous version, but it was still nasty. Especially when made in a strong dose to compensate for days of neglect. He turned up the lights and sat, munching a bar as he continued reading.

 

> _Under the mattress there are a couple notebooks you haven’t seen. You’ll understand why I’ve kept them from you once you’ve read them._ _There are things in them I haven’t told anyone, not even you yet._ _You_ _do_ _need to read them, Steve. I’m telling you to do it. Once you do, you’ll have a new understanding of just how messed up my brain is, and understand why I have to stay away. Read the blue one first. You’ll see why I was so happy when you kissed me, and why I kissed you in the lab. The black one...we’ve talked about my missions and my training but this...this is different. This is worse. And, it would seem, this is_ also _what they made me—not just a killer, but what I did to you._
> 
> _I love you, Steve. I have since we were dumb, idealistic kids going off to a war that was bigger than we could have possibly understood. Of that love, I am 100% certain. Of the rest of it, I don’t know anymore. That hurts me more than anything HYDRA did to me. I wanted it all to be true. Those memories, the things you are telling me never happened, got me through the worst moments of my life._
> 
> _I don’t know where we go from here. I don’t know how we move past what I did. Until I can be sure I won’t hurt you again, I have to stay away._
> 
> _Til the end of the line,_
> 
> _Bucky_

 

The paper in his hands shook as his gaze landed on the bed. What could be so bad that Bucky had felt the need to keep it hidden even from him? Bucky knew the things Steve had seen in the war and since waking from the ice. If anyone could understand it would be him. What else had Bucky done?

 


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s gut wrenched, uncertainty and fear gripping him tight. He wasn’t sure if he had the mental strength to read either of the notebooks tonight. He’d found them easily enough, and now they sat on the table, taunting him with their presence. Bucky’s note had said to read the blue one first, and Steve wondered just how much of a coincidence it was that it was the same shade as his uniform had once been. He toyed with it, fingertips sliding down the sides and along the rough edges of the paper ends. In the end, he decided on reheating some food he found in the freezer and trying to distract himself with a movie.

He was working through a massive list of movies and television shows that he’d let all his teammates add to in his online account, and now Shuri had gotten her hands on it as well, which made it very interesting. He picked one at random, and found himself watching one of the newer James Bond movies. After only a few minutes in, he turned it off. He wasn’t in the mood for violence and spies and espionage. He stared at the notebooks. The black one seemed to suck all the light from the room, the mere suggestion of what it might contain creating an imagined malevolent force emanating from it.

“Alright, Bucky. What haven’t you told me?” he murmured.

Grabbing his hideous drink and the blue notebook, he went outside. In the event that Bucky was currently watching, he wanted him to know that he was going along, doing what Bucky asked, more than willing to do whatever it took for them to reconcile. Steeling his nerves, with a deep breath he opened the book and started to read.

 

> _ They woke me up a few days ago. It’s been almost a year. So far the most shocking revelation is that Steve has gone completely rogue from the Avengers, even more than he did to save me. He freed the others who’d been imprisoned in the floating fortress, and is living in Wakanda now with Natasha and Bird-Man. That was an interesting interaction. I don’t know what happened that Romanov is here now, since she was fighting against us in the beginning, but she and Sam are good for Steve, which is all that matters to me. _
> 
> _ Steve has continued his quest to save me, for which I am grateful. He has uncovered more records of how they brainwashed me, which Shuri is now using to rewire me with Natasha’s help—who herself has experience with being unmade, and probably is the only person who fully understands my situation. I’m not sure how much she trusts me, but I’m glad to have her on my side. I should probably apologize to her for shooting her again, though. _

 

Steve smiled, remembering how tense Bucky had been around Natasha in the beginning. But as they’d worked together to counter the trigger phrases, they’d developed a friendship that Steve was glad for. As Bucky himself had acknowledged, she knew better than anyone what he was going through in trying to adjust.

He read a few more pages, nothing extraordinary catching his attention, just several more short entries. Natasha had recommended the journal to Bucky as a way to help process and sort out his memories. There were a few things here they’d already talked about, but it was clearly a more personal journal than the one he and Bucky routinely discussed that was filled with his Asset memories. The next entry, however, was longer.

 

> _ Steve is my rock. I don’t know where I’d be or what would’ve happened to me without his unwavering dedication and loyalty. But sometimes there is something in his eyes when he looks at me, a sadness that I don’t know the source of, and he seems to be holding himself back. Like there’s something he wants to say or do, but is afraid of my reaction. It’s clear that I did something wrong at some point, otherwise we’d be together now, right? Our kind of relationship isn’t something that needs to be kept a secret any longer, not these days. I wish I could remember that part, whatever it was I did wrong. It makes the rest of what I remember torturous. Unless he’s ashamed of it, of what we did during the war, which is possibly even worse than the thought of me screwing it up somehow. _
> 
> _ Today, we went on a mission, a raid on a small compound that was a HYDRA safehouse. Nothing spectacular, rather uneventful by our measure. But still, it was the first mission we’d done together since the Howlies. I was excited, not only to be fighting by his side again, but also secretly hoping for what might happen after, hoping that maybe he’d get caught up in the moment again, like the old days, and that things would happen in the showers, or even that he might come to visit me tonight. But seeing as it’s well past midnight as I write this, it’s looking less and less likely. _
> 
> _ I remember the first time it happened, when Steve rescued me from Zola’s table. It surprised us both, I think because he was so hung up on Peggy. We were washing up after the debriefing and I stumbled, my exhaustion and what Zola had done finally catching up with me. He caught me and when I looked at him, he was on the verge of tears. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he said, and then we were kissing, our hands on each other, and suddenly he gasped, panting, saying my name over and over and we were done as quickly as we’d started. I think I said something along the lines of ‘I don’t have to worry about hurting you now’, and felt so happy about that, about being able to be together. He’d been so worried about someone finding out, but I didn’t care, I was too happy to be bothered about that. _
> 
> _ I guess it was too much to hope for, that my life might finally come together now that I’ve broken the programming. _
> 
> _ There have been so many times recently that his touch has lingered, his gaze has set me on fire, and I’m left wanting, wondering. What would he do if I bridged that gap? Is he waiting for me? Does he think I’ve forgotten how close we actually were? So many questions, none of which are easy to ask or answer. _

 

Steve looked up from the book with a heavy sigh. What Bucky had described about that time in the army showers was true, but the implications that it had happened many other times under similar circumstances broke his heart. What kind of false memories had HYDRA implanted? No wonder he’d been so keen on helping Steve shower.

 

> _ It’s 3:27am. I woke up a little while ago from another dream (nightmare, let’s be honest, though they don’t scare me the way they should) about another non-combat “mission.” I’ve already cataloged it in the other notebook, and near as I can tell, they’ve all been separate occasions. I haven’t written every one of them down, because honestly, for the most part they’re all the same, but by my estimate I think it’s safe to say there was at least one big event a year, aside from the smaller gatherings. This one was particularly memorable because it was one that I was fairly lucid for, which means it was one that sent me into my own mind, to Steve, to the memories of his touch on my bare skin, to the feel of his body against mine. _
> 
> _ I woke up this morning yet again with Steve’s name on my lips and a stomach covered in my own seed, like I was sixteen again. We’re supposed to have a marathon training session today in the gym. I may not survive it without breaking, without screaming at him to touch me, to talk to me, to tell me why he’s left me to endure this pain of heartbreak. _

 

“Jesus,” Steve gasped, closing the book, unable to read further through the tears flowing freely and obscuring his vision. He recalled that day in the gym not too long ago. Bucky had been grumpy upon arrival, citing bad dreams and lack of sleep, but had insisted on doing the training. Their goal had been to test Bucky’s endurance, so doing it under less than optimal conditions made sense. After nearly six hours of running, sparring, and lifting with no breaks and no refreshments for Bucky, he’d collapsed without warning. Steve had been upset with Bucky for not telling him he’d hit his limit, but now it was clear why he’d pushed himself so hard.

He’d  _ wanted _ to pass out, either in hopes of a dreamless night, or perhaps in hopes of triggering Steve. And it had nearly worked, too. Bucky’s head had tucked into his neck so perfectly as Steve carried him through the building and back to his rooms. He’d been so pliant, a look of hope in his eyes that had confused Steve as he’d washed Bucky and tucked him into bed to rest. Steve had climbed in next to him, telling himself it was so he could keep an eye on Bucky and make sure he was okay, and not because he’d felt so good cradled in Steve’s arms. He’d woken from his nap pressed up against Bucky, who was moaning and rocking his hips in his sleep. Instead of waking or helping him, Steve had slid from the bed and gone into the bathroom to jerk off to fantasies much like the ones he’d read in Bucky’s journal.

And the worst part was, he knew he’d be doing that again soon. The further he got into the journal, the more explicit the entries grew, and Steve’s artist’s brain was providing detailed images to accompany Bucky’s words.

By the time Steve stumbled back inside, unable to see enough to read the rest in the growing darkness, he was rock hard.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve came with a low groan, flushing with shame as he caught his breath. Fantasizing about Bucky was not something new, but he felt extremely guilty for jerking off to Bucky’s notebook and the false memories that Bucky so cherished. He’d woken from a night full of intensely erotic dreams, hard and aching for release. Wrong or not, he’d been unable to resist the need, and before he knew it he was gasping Bucky’s name, jets of semen landing hot across his stomach and over his hand, as he’d done twice before sleep had claimed him the night before.

He disentangled himself from the sheets and started a pot of coffee while he showered off. Dressed in a pair of Bucky’s sweats and a muscle shirt— _I should probably bring some clothes down here if I’m staying_ , he thought as he adjusted himself in the snug attire—he leaned against the counter, staring at the notebooks on the table while he drank. Bucky had been right about one thing, the contents of the blue notebook certainly explained what had happened between them in the shower, why Bucky had seemed so desperate, so relieved. The one thing bugging him the most, what Steve couldn’t figure out, is _why_ HYDRA had created those false memories.

The black notebook sat heavy and menacing next to the blue one. Given what he’d read, and what he and Bucky had discussed from the red notebook that Bucky had taken with him, Steve couldn’t even imagine what lay waiting for him. What could be worse than missions that involved extensive torture, disregard for innocent casualties, and killing of women and children?

“Steve? You awake in there, man?”

Steve sighed at the sound of Sam’s voice. He just wanted to be left alone.

“I brought you a visitor,” the man— _my friend,_ Steve reminded himself—continued.

Well that sounded even worse than Sam showing up unannounced. He set down the coffee and swept open the door to get this over with.

“Wanda!” he cried in surprise, catching her as she threw herself into his arms.

She held him tight, face pressed into his shoulder, and he heard her sniffle before she spoke again.

“Natasha told me what happened. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, Wanda. Shuri healed me, everything is okay.” As if to emphasize the point, he squeezed her tightly before setting her back on the ground. He caught Sam’s assessing gaze as he watched Steve’s every move. When their eyes met, he gave a slight nod, an unspoken acknowledgment between them as to Steve’s health status.

“You want some coffee?” he asked, ducking back inside. He grabbed the two notebooks and shoved them under the pillows as he hurriedly yanked the blanket up to hide the mess on the bedding he hadn’t gotten a chance to wash yet.

“I’m not interrupting—”

“No,” he cut her off, perhaps a bit more roughly than intended.

“Steve, where is Bucky?” she asked cautiously, not missing a thing. “Natasha said he slipped a bit when you were injured but that he was still okay. Did something happen?”

He clenched his jaw.

“He’s not frozen,” he said at last, choosing the easiest of possible answers. “He just wanted to be left alone for a bit,” he finished, with a pointed glare at Sam. “To sort some things out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’,” Sam muttered.

Wanda looked back and forth between them.

“You can stay,” Steve said to her, handing her a cup.

“What the hell is going on, Steve?”

“How was your trip?” he asked in return. “How’s Vision doing?” Wanda’s eyes widened, and Steve grinned. “You really think Nat didn’t keep tabs on you those first few times? Once we were sure you were okay, we stopped, I promise. Besides, it was impossible to not notice how happy you were when you returned.”

Wanda shook her head. “He’s fine. It’s...complicated. We’re figuring it out as we go.”

“Story of my life,” Steve quipped, with an unconscious glance at the bed as he joined her at the table.

“Why are you all the way out here, if he isn’t?”

_So he knows right where to find me_. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it.

“Because it’s easier to think here.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the bullshit.

“Because I’m not letting him push me away,” he sighed, hands covering his face.

“So you’re invading his space?”

He exhaled sharply, a halfhearted chuckle.

“He knows where I am. It’s where I need to be right now. Some things are...better to... _deal with_ out here, and _out there_ ,” he said, waving a hand in the direction of trees, “away from everyone.” He stumbled over the words, not entirely sure how to explain, or how much to explain, about what was going on. “We had a...misunderstanding. He’s doing what he thinks he needs to do. I’m doing the same.”

“And Shuri is okay with him running off? Has she completed her work, then?”

“More or less,” he hedged, swallowing hard. “He got a little fuzzy while I was hurt, yes. But Natasha was able to snap him right out of it. I think it was from the extreme emotional response. He’d been conditioned to not feel _any_ emotions, so he kind of defaulted to fight or flight mode...and since I was hurt, he went into fight. But that’s not the issue, not why he’s out there.”

Wanda waited, not pushing, and for that he was thankful.

“Wanda, the thing you can do to people’s minds...do you think...” Steve trailed off, staring at the bed. He rose and grabbed the blue notebook, holding it tight. “This book is full of Bucky’s memories. Of me. Except about ninety-eight percent of them never happened. If you were to look in someone’s head the way you do, could you tell a false memory, something that was implanted, from a real one?”

“It’s...possible? I don’t know.”

“Fucking HYDRA,” Steve grumbled, dropping onto the edge of the bed.

Wanda knelt on the floor in front of him, placing a hand over the notebook.

“I just want him back. In any capacity. I don’t care what’s in his head. I love him, Wanda. But this—” his hands clenched the notebook, bending it, and he caught himself before he ripped it to shreds. “This is eating him up inside. I’ll do anything I can to help him.”

“Let me talk with Shuri. She’s absolutely brilliant, I’m sure we can figure it out for you.”

“It’s not for me. I’m okay with working with and around the false memories. But I think the knowledge that they’re fake, it really affected him. And I don’t even know if that’s what he wants but...” he stopped as he realized the potential of what Wanda might see, not just the false memories but some of the missions they’d discussed, things Bucky had done.

“Steve,” Wanda said softly, cupping his cheek. “If we can figure it out, we can give him the option, and go from there. We will help him. And _you_ , Steve. Don’t do what you always do. Don’t shoulder this alone. Talk to someone.”

“I am talking. To you.”

“About Bucky. Not about you.”

“I’m fine, Wanda.”

Wanda sighed heavily as she stood, a sad look on her face.

“No, you’re not. And you’re not going to let anyone in. Not until you break.”

At the door, she paused and glanced back at him.

“Don’t shut us out, Steve. Just because we didn’t live through the same things doesn’t mean we can’t handle it. We’ve seen more than our fair share of horrors. Don’t forget that.”

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

It took Steve another two days to get around to actually opening the black notebook. Every time he picked it up, he found a reason to put it back down.

_Not gonna start this at bedtime._

_Gotta go see Shuri again and bring some clothes here._

_Need more food._

Any number of reasons, one just as good as another, to put off the inevitable. Just the idea of what could be written on those pages gave him pause. He and Bucky had seen some seriously disturbing stuff between the war and HYDRA, plus everything they’d discussed of Bucky’s missions over the last seventy years, so if this was something he saw fit to keep from Steve, he was legitimately concerned.

 

> _Natasha and Sam seem to think keeping a journal will help. I don’t know how writing this shit down will do any good, but I’ve gotten three of them. My brain may be Swiss cheese, but I am aware enough to know that what I remember falls into three categories: Nightmare, Hell, and Steve. Always Steve, buried deep away where my mind could keep him safe, and pull him out to get me through the worst of it. It seems wrong to write about him, all the good stuff, on the same pages where I write about my missions. Hence the three books. I won’t tarnish those memories in that way._
> 
> _Of course, the things that are going into this book are even worse than the missions. At least the missions, they were things that were done_ by me _. This is all about the things that were done_ to me _. Things I had no control over._
> 
> _I still don’t know if or when I’ll tell Steve about any of these things. They’re not exactly casual conversation topics, even given our line of work. He’s never said it, but I know him, and I know he blames himself for everything that happened to me after I fell from the train. I know he thinks if he’d found me, and not the Russians, that things would have gone differently. Sometimes I wonder about that myself, about how different life would have been for the two of us if I’d managed to find my way back to the Allies. But none of this is his fault. That fall should have killed me. Steve didn’t know what Zola had been doing to me, the experiments he saved me from. I never told him they’d injected me with different things, one of which I now know was another version of the serum he’d gotten. He couldn’t have known I was alive._
> 
> _Dead would have been better._

 

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears. He was wrong. This book would be even worse than he’d suspected. He paced around the tent, anxious, feeling claustrophobic, and eventually took the book outside to sit and read, not that he thought it would really help.

 

> _I suppose it makes sense to start at the beginning, even though the earliest bits are the fuzziest. I don’t know if that’s because of the memory wipes or the cryo freezes at the time—I definitely won’t miss going in and out of those damn tubes, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much before waking up with the arm, Zola’s face looming over me, and bits of training in Siberia. So much of that blends together, and with the gaps from the freezes, I don’t know when it was decided that I could have another “use” for them._
> 
> _I know_ how _they figured it out, though._
> 
> _It’s all my fault, in the end._
> 
> _I don’t know why they did what they did initially, probably testing my programming, and it backfired. Of course I recognized Steve—or I should say the really fucking impressive impersonator they used—because he’ll always be the one thing to break through my programming. Even freshly wiped, on the carrier, he broke through. So their test failed, but it gave them so much more to use, so much more to work with, because then they knew, they_ knew _, when Steve was found and brought into SHIELD, fucking Pierce KNEW the secret, the ultimate weapon against him would be ME, I would be the one to destroy Captain America and tear the Avengers apart. Even though he died, it didn’t matter, he’d already sown the seeds, and of course it worked. Because Steve will always pick me over everyone else, including himself. Like he didn’t prove that back at the Kreischberg facility._
> 
> _One day I woke up strapped in the chair, but instead of being surrounded by techs and doctors and soldiers, I was alone. There was an alarm going off in the facility. And suddenly there was Steve, my Steve, in all his WWII Captain America glory, and it was like a door flew open in my mind as he came through the door of the room: “Steve, oh Steve, thank God.” He rushed over to me, freed me from the chair, and we began our escape._
> 
> _I turned into a blubbering idiot, clinging to him as we worked through hallways and rooms, past bodies and broken equipment. “I knew you’d find me, I knew you’d come, Steve I love you, help me please, I don’t know what they did to me, I think I’m like you now,” so much that I said that I can’t even remember it all, but they knew then that Steve was my ultimate trigger._
> 
> _My biggest mistake was kissing him._
> 
> _They guy they had used was good, a great actor, but the kiss caught him off guard. He played it off with a “not here, this isn’t the time or place, wait til we’re out of here,” but by then I was more with it, more clear, and started to notice little things. His voice was off, the height slightly wrong, and he never once used the shield, which was practically a third arm for Steve. So I pushed. “Steve, please, I thought I’d never see you again, it’s been so long, I love you so much,” and pulled him in for another kiss. Despite everything else we’d done, we’d only kissed a few times, but I knew then that this wasn’t Steve. I give the guy credit for trying to play along, but that wasn’t how Steve kissed. And when I punched him, when he fought back, he couldn’t hold me back, he didn’t have the strength. I managed to snap his neck before the soldiers got to us. By the time they managed to pull me off of him, I’d stomped his face into nothingness, screaming wordlessly, enraged, until my throat was raw._
> 
> _None of that mattered, though._
> 
> _Because now they knew._
> 
> _Now, they had it in their heads that they could—and should—do something else with me._

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***CHECK THE UPDATED TAGS (if you're reading as I post and not as a completed fic)***   
> This story has taken a turn for the worse, lol. I should know better than to think I can write straight fluff/sweet stories. Time for some serious Trash Party flashbacks to begin.

Steve felt his heart breaking inside his chest. Bucky’s love for him was a double-edged sword, something that had both saved and damned him.

“Oh Bucky, I’m so sorry,” he choked out, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments of collecting himself, he continued reading.

 

> _The first time it happened, as far as I can tell, was not long after the fake Steve incident. Somehow, this memory has always been clear, always been one of the first to return. I never understood why it was so important until I remembered the fake Steve._
> 
> _“You did a good job, soldier. Well done. Maybe we should give you a reward before we stick you back in the tube.” That was my unit commander, my primary handler._
> 
> _I had no clue what to expect, this wasn’t part of the routine, not part of my programming._
> 
> _“Yeah, I’ve got a much warmer tube that he’ll like better.” The second-in-command, a backup handler. Two men I was under explicit orders to obey at all costs, in all circumstances. I still didn’t understand what was going on. Not until they restrained me, gave me a sedative that made me easier to control. I was bent over a metal table, one barely wide enough to go from hips to shoulders. My arms were tied to the legs, then secured with high powered magnets. My pants were removed, and that’s when I started to realize what they intended. My struggles were rewarded with shocks from the taser wands, and my legs were soon restrained in a similar manner to my arms._

 

Bile rose in the back of Steve’s throat. _Oh God, no, no, nononononononooooo_ his brain screamed, refusing to accept what he was reading. He re-read the page, hoping he was wrong. He started shaking as he continued.

 

> _I’ve barely resigned myself to this happening when one of them shoves himself inside me. It hurt like hell, he didn’t prep me in any way, and I clenched involuntarily. For that, I got another taser hit._
> 
> _“C’mon, fairy, you know you like this. This is your reward. Are you saying you don’t want your reward?”_
> 
> _“Maybe he did all the pitching and none of the catching!”_
> 
> _“Is that true, Asset? Am I the first one to fuck your browneye? Oh, wait, you can’t remember, can you?”_
> 
> _The two erupted into laughter while the commander continued to pound into me._
> 
> _“Hey, you want a turn? He’s nice and tight.”_
> 
> _“Fuck it, why not? I was gonna have him suck me off but he might bite, he’s too jumpy today. Been thawed out too long.”_
> 
> _The commander finally pulls out, and stands in front of me while his second takes position behind me._
> 
> _“You know, your hair is long enough that you could almost pass for a broad from this angle,” he says as he enters me._
> 
> _The commander grabs me by the hair and yanks my head up._
> 
> _“He’s gonna fuck you, and you’re going to like it, you understand, Asset? That’s an order. If I don’t see that dick of yours get hard, I’ll fuck you with my taser until you come. I used to work on a farm. You know what happens when you stimulate the prostate with a cattle prod? I do. Now open up to finish me off. And if you bite me, so help me God, I’ll have every member of the team in here fucking your filthy ass until your hole is so stretched out I can shove my whole fist up there.”_
> 
> _The second-in-command had been right, I’d been out of cryo long enough that I was starting to break down, my brain trying to override some of the conditioning. It happened from time to time, when I’d become aware of having had another life prior to being The Asset, and remember other times when they’d woken me up._
> 
> _I just wanted it to be over, so I complied. I closed my eyes, and images of Steve flashed through my mind. At the time, I wasn’t sure who he was, but I knew that whoever he’d been to me, he was a happy memory. I let myself imagine I was with him. It was easy enough to do, so I assumed it had actually happened in my prior life. Thankfully, it worked, because I was really_ not _interested in finding out about that cattle prod. I managed to choke down the commander when he came, and shortly after that, the second-in-command unloaded all over my ass and the backs of my thighs._
> 
> _“Good boy. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? Did you like your reward?” The commander slapped me when I didn’t answer. “Ungrateful. We gave you the cock you so desire, and you can’t even say thank you?”_
> 
> _“He liked it all right. Look at him. That looks painful, don’t it boss?” The second-in-command laughed as he swatted at me, hard to the point of aching and so near a release that I’d been denied._
> 
> _The commander clucked his tongue, tsk-tsking me as he tucked himself away._
> 
> _“Aww, we can’t send him back in like that, that would just be mean, wouldn’t it? Imagine waking up like that and not knowing why. Maybe we should do something for him, eh?”_
> 
> _He moved around behind me, and the last thing I remember is the sound of the taser wand leaving its sheath before my vision goes white._
> 
>  

****

 

Bucky knew when Steve finally started to read the black Journal. He heard the screams of rage and anger, the same screams that Bucky had been denied himself, from where he sat perched in the treetops watching over Steve. The screams came after Steve finally stopped vomiting. It broke Bucky's heart to see Steve so distraught, but he knew this was the best way. He would never have been able to speak the words and tell Steve the truth face to face. Not enough to make him fully understand what had happened, at least.

Steve's anger was truly a sight to behold. Trees disintegrated into mulch under his blows, rocks and boulders pulverized to dust, until at last Steve fell, broken and bloody, to his knees. He lifted his head, looking to the trees, as if he were searching for Bucky. Bucky's breath caught at what he saw. He hadn't ventured this close in a few days, but he'd let his concern for the man he loved override his desire to remain hidden.

“You're beautiful,” Bucky whispered, taking in the long, disheveled hair and the now full beard. He longed to run to him, to soothe him, to assure him that everything would be fine. But everything would never be fine. Not again. Not after what he’d done. He didn’t deserve to feel the warm strength of Steve’s arms around him, the calm reassurance of his gentle presence.

Steve fell back to sit on the ground, legs crossed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He stayed there for a while, so long that Bucky thought he might actually have to go check on him. Eventually, Steve pushed himself up, giving half-hearted swipes at the debris covering him from his rampage. With a last baleful look over his shoulder, he righted his chair and retrieved the notebook from the ground before he sat once more.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

> “ _Your mission is to let every person in this room use you as they see fit. This is a celebration, and you’re their prize.”_
> 
> _The director is talking to me. He’s my ultimate commander, the one in charge of everything. To my knowledge, he’s never actually fucked me. But he never stops the others from doing it. To the contrary, he encourages it. I look around the room, counting a dozen people, men and women both. They’re all clothed, wearing Lady Liberty-like togas and patriotic masks that make me wonder if it’s the Fourth of July. The events for the Fourth were usually bigger though, more people, more fanfare, so I am confused._
> 
> _Closer to me, the STRIKE team is there, in full tactical gear._
> 
> _I am naked._
> 
> _I am also far more lucid than they are aware._
> 
> _I prefer the moments of clarity on combat missions._
> 
> _There is no rhyme or reason as to when or why my brain is clear. I don’t know if it’s something that goes wrong when they wake and prep me, or just my brain rebelling, a reaction to some unknown trigger. I learned early on that when I “woke up” like this, it was smarter to keep that information to myself—the beat down to force me back into the chair the few times it happened was insane—and either get through the mission or watch for a chance to escape to present itself. Whatever the cause was this time, my mouth opens before I can stop it, and I nearly slipped._
> 
> _“What are we celebrating?”_
> 
> _Pierce looks at me, eyebrows raised._
> 
> _“Sir,” I added hastily, dropping my eyes. At this point, I noticed that my cock was hard and I realize that they’ve drugged me, and wonder how many other times they’ve done that._
> 
> _He waves an arm at the television._
> 
> _“Why, a national treasure has been found. An icon. A legend. The whole country is celebrating.”_
> 
> _I lifted my gaze to the news broadcast running silently in the background and my heart stopped. There was Steve. Alive. In the present day, shown alongside footage of us from the war. In the few moments it took me to recognize him, I knew my reaction was being closely watched. From the corner of my eye, I could see the members of the team all grab their tasers in unison._
> 
> _“Very good, Sir. How can I help?”_
> 
> _He seemed to relax slightly._
> 
> _“You were created in response to him. He is the reason you are here. This is as much your celebration as it is theirs. You are given permission to enjoy yourself while they enjoy you. You will not need permission. You may release whenever you need to. We have seen to it that you will have no problem enduring the performance.”_
> 
> _Confirmation of the drugs. Spoken with utmost confidence, which means he’s sure of how long it will last, which means they’ve definitely done this to me before for other events._
> 
> _“Understood, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”_
> 
> _My responses seem to satisfy him, and the team relaxes._
> 
> _Pierce turns triumphantly to the room._
> 
> _“You see? Perfectly compliant. He’s all yours.”_
> 
> _One of the men cleared his throat._
> 
> _“What can we do to him?”_
> 
> _The man is clearly new to this, someone who hasn’t been to an event before._
> 
> _“Soldier, answer the question,” Pierce commands._
> 
> _My addled brain provides the information on autopilot._
> 
> _“I am here for your pleasure. My own is of no concern. You may use yourself or any of the devices provided. You may use any part of me, including my mouth in addition to my cock or my ass. You may use me with another person. I am capable of pleasing multiple people at once.”_
> 
> _I hear a woman moan softly, and I already know what she will want._
> 
> _A large bed is brought into the center of the room. A table is placed next to it, covered with various items, including several bottles of lube and condoms._
> 
> _I was happy just to see the bed, but I knew the rack wouldn’t be far off. Pierce would have me on that at the end of the night. He always did. It was like the grand finale of the show._

 

“Oh you son of a bitch,” Steve hissed, fists clenching. The twinge of pain from the healing bones helped ground him. It was a good thing Pierce was already dead, because the things Steve was currently entertaining doing to the man were decidedly vicious and un-hero-like.

Bucky had wanted him to read this, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep reading in detail. His brain would make sure he never forgot a word, and he already didn’t want to know any more of it. With a heavy heart, Steve skimmed through several pages.

 

> _...I can feel the broken skin, the blood running down my back and legs, from the hits Rumlow is raining down on me. The barbed ends of flogger dig into my flesh..._
> 
> _...I deserve the punishment, I made a mistake, team members died, it was my fault..._
> 
> _...he’s always preferred to do it himself, not use any implements, so it’s not exactly a surprise when he shoves his whole fist up into me..._
> 
> _...Pierce is caressing my face, praising me. My arms ache from the rack, it feels like I’ve been there longer than normal..._
> 
> _...They’re forcing another orgasm from me, using the taser wand, which seems to be their favorite item for this because I can’t hold back my screams. They’re counting and laughing as they do it, saying something about needing to make sure ‘all the live ones are out’..._
> 
>  

*****

 

Steve lurched for the sink and threw up again. That seemed to be all he did lately—read when he could work up the nerve, until he couldn’t fight the urge to vomit from Bucky’s words. Not that he even was bothering to eat, which meant he was puking up mostly stomach acid, which was just feeling more awesome every time he did it. He’d lost track of the days as he descended into the horror that was Bucky’s memories, the things that had been done to him. Now he understood why, real or not, implanted or imagined, Bucky had clung so tightly to the images of the two of them together, to the love they had for one another.

He slid to the floor, resting against the cabinets, and stared at the book. It seemed like that’s all he did these days, just stare at the book, be it opened or closed. He left it where it had landed on the floor and crawled into bed, too numb to do much else.

At some point, he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he noticed was that the book was missing.

“No more, Steve. You’ve read enough.”

“He wanted me to know. I haven’t finished yet.”

Natasha rose from the chair and stared down at him.

“You’ve read enough. Look at how this is affecting you. You aren’t finishing.”

He met her gaze and saw the same horror occupying his brain reflected in her eyes.

“I’m taking this with me. Eat something. Please. I brought you new supplements, Shuri made capsules for you to take since you guys kept whining about the taste. It’s the same dosage as before. And maybe get some fresh air in here, too. I’ve been in locker rooms that smell better. I’ll check back in tomorrow.”

She flung the flap wide as she left, and Steve squinted, shrinking away from the bright light now flooding the tent. Once his eyes adjusted, he stumbled to the table and forced down four of the pills. Normal dose would be one a day, but he had no idea how many days it had been since he’d bothered to take care of himself, so four seemed like a good start given how weak he felt. He wanted to go after Natasha and demand the notebook back, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit the lack of it brought him a sense of relief.

Steve started shaking as his body metabolized the supplements when they hit his system. Sweating profusely, he made it to the shower and sat clothed at the bottom, letting the cold water run over him. Perhaps four hadn’t been such a good idea after all. A bit more clear-headed, he stripped down and washed himself up. When he pulled clean clothes on, he was chagrined to notice that they were loose, and also Bucky’s. Unfortunately, he was exhausted from that little bit of exertion. A glance at the bed gave him pause, though. He was actually clean, and he had no idea when he’d last washed the sheets. _Later_ , he thought. He needed to rest first, so he went to lie in the hammock Bucky had hung to wait for his body to settle out from the sudden rush from the supplements.

He honestly wasn’t surprised or even angry when he woke up, knowing from the moment he’d laid back into the netting that he’d likely fall asleep.

Finding a note from Bucky, pinned to Steve’s chest with a rock, wasn’t even entirely a surprise at this point.

But that fact that Bucky had once again been there, arriving and leaving while Steve was asleep, angered him greatly, and Steve was fully awake in short order, on his feet and hurling the rock as hard as he could toward those damned trees and the forest that kept Bucky hidden from him.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Exhaling an angry breath, Steve smoothed out the note he’d crumpled in his fist.

“What do you want now?” he grumbled, and scanned the short message.

 

_Hey idiot, sleeping day and night and not eating or taking care of yourself is a sign of depression. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Don’t let this crown break your neck. Talk to someone, Steve. I trust your discretion._

 

“I want to talk to YOU!” Steve screamed. He stared at the treeline—he was starting to really fucking _hate_ those trees—and something inside him snapped as he stormed forward.

“Bucky! Where are you? Goddamn it, I know you’re here!” He worked his way in, looking around, until he noticed a tree with a few fresh scrapes on it. Looking up, he found Bucky sitting a good twenty or thirty feet up.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Get down here. Now. Or so help me God, I’ll make you.”

Bucky looked down at him for a long moment, their eyes locked. Steve noticed the minute changes in his face and posture when he decided, and he pushed off from the trunk, dropping to his feet on the ground in front of Steve. Steve held the note, now crumpled once more, in his fisted hand and shook it in Bucky’s face.

“I’m sick of your damn notes. I want to talk to you. I want to see you, not your words.”

“I’m not safe for you,” Bucky said, voice rough from disuse.

“Shouldn’t that be my decision?”

“Right, like you’ve never knowingly done what was bad for you.”

“Shut up,” Steve growled, slamming his mouth to Bucky’s as he grabbed the back of his head.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, chest heaving when they finally parted.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. That’s never going to change. I’ve always wanted to be with you. So what if it happened the way it did. I still wanted it. I didn’t say no.”

Bucky swallowed hard, blue-grey eyes a riot of emotions: confusion, lust, regret.

“But what I did to you...I’m no better than—”

“Don’t you dare even _think_ it. You are _not_ what they did to you.”

“I wish I could be so sure of that,” Bucky said softly, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve fought the urge to pull him into a tighter embrace. “There are times that I see you and I’m afraid to believe that it’s real. Afraid that it’s just another trick. Another fake memory. That you’ll leave.”

At that, Steve did tighten his arms around Bucky’s back.

“Don’t you understand, Buck? Wanda got into my head one time, drew out my biggest fears, and you want to know what they were? A life without fighting. I’ve always been fighting, and I don’t know how to exist in this new world without having something to fight for, some mission. My other fear? A life without you. If I can only have one of those, I choose you. If I have you, I can figure all the rest of it out.”

“Christ, you’re so dramatic.”

The tears in Bucky’s eyes gave him away though as he lifted his head. Steve kissed him again, gentle and soft, but no less filled with desire.

“I’m never going to leave you. I’ll never give up on you. And I don’t care what they made you do. That wasn’t you.”

“I’ll never be the same, though. I’ll never be who I was before the war, before the fall even.”

“Neither will I. We both made decisions, did things, that changed us. But we’re here together now. That’s all that matters. We start over. Make new memories. Better memories.”

Bucky sighed, a teasing glint to his eyes.

“I don’t know. Some of those memories of us were pretty damn good.”

Steve laughed, happy to see that Bucky wasn’t fighting him any longer.

“Well, I don’t have the old one, just my new one, but I can suit up any time and help make those ones real, too,” he offered, meaning every word of it. He didn’t miss the way Bucky’s breath hitched for just a moment, the way his heartbeat sped up, or the darkening of his eyes.

Those same eyes gave him a once-over.

“Don’t think that would work. Pretty sure the suit would fall right off you now. You look like shit, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you leave me like that.”

Bucky feigned a long-suffering sigh.

“Am I _always_ going to have to take care of you, punk?”

“I’m afraid so. Clearly, I can’t be left to my own devices. You’re stuck with me.”

Bucky cupped Steve’s face.

“Til the end of the line,” he murmured, the tears he’d been fighting finally spilling over.

 

****

 

Bucky handed Steve one of the protein bars to eat, the stern look in his eyes saying everything that he didn’t vocalize. Steve had simply grinned, holding Bucky’s gaze as he took the first bite. Satisfied, Bucky hurried off to collect the things he’d brought with him. He didn’t want Steve to over-exert himself following through the dense underbrush, considering the crappy care he’d been taking of himself the past few weeks. Eating often, in small increments, would be the quickest way for him to regain his strength, and Bucky had plenty of food he could cook for Steve once they were back.

Bucky wasn’t gone long, and they emerged from the trees side by side, close enough for each to feel the body heat radiating from the other, but not quite touching.

“Goddamn it!” Steve cursed, and Bucky instantly tensed, scanning the fields for danger.

“What is it?”

“Give me a knife.”

Steve held an arm out expectantly, palm up.

“Huh?”

“I’m going to break that fucking thing,” he said, glaring at the sight of RedWing hovering off in the distance.

“Steve, no,” Bucky said, shifting the bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’m sick of being spied on. They want to check on me, they can come down here themselves.”

“Then show them you’re okay.” Bucky cocked an eyebrow and looked at Steve, an amused grin on his face as an idea struck him.

“Wha—?”

He cut off Steve’s words with a kiss, holding him by the back of the neck. He would have left it at that, just give Sam a little show, let him see that Bucky was back and Steve would be fine now.

He really would have stopped.

He didn’t count on how Steve would react.

The kiss broke and Steve pulled back slightly, not breaking the hold, but enough for him to see his face. Blue eyes searched his own, and then a slow grin curved those perfectly kissable lips as Steve flicked his eyes in the direction of Sam’s drone again. He gave a barely imperceptible nod and leaned in, closing the distance between them once more.

The bag fell to the ground, forgotten, as Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, one holding his waist tight, the other coming around his shoulders as Steve teased his tongue over Bucky’s teeth. His head swam from a lack of oxygen as he forgot to breathe while their tongues dueled, until at last he had to break the kiss.

“Did I mention yet how hot you look with long hair and a beard?” he asked, grabbing hold of said hair and tugging Steve’s head back. Steve gasped, Bucky’s name whispering past his lips, and Bucky could feel him growing hard where their bodies pressed together.

“Seriously hot,” he continued, trailing kisses along Steve’s neck.

Steve moaned, nearly melting in Bucky’s arms. He didn’t fight when Bucky straightened up and lifted Steve to carry him the remaining distance to his— _their—_ tent. Legs locked firmly around Bucky’s waist, Steve’s hands explored his chest and back between kisses, all restraint disappearing, his desire an overwhelming force that threatened to drown Bucky with its strength.

Bucky stumbled and nearly dropped Steve when his breath came hot in Bucky’s ear, teeth pulling hard at the lobe before moving on to his neck.

“I need you,” Bucky breathed, a whispered confession, a declaration, a baring of his soul. “Steve, please,” he begged as they ducked through the doorway. The flap fell closed behind them as one of them—he wasn’t even sure who—pulled it shut. The sudden darkness didn’t stop him and he made straight for the bed, falling onto it with Steve still clinging to him tightly. Steve pressed his shoulders into the mattress, grinding his hips against Bucky’s as their mouths collided once again.

“Yes, Bucky. Yes, always yes, always for you.” Steve’s hands threaded through his hair, holding Bucky’s head gently. “I love you,” he said softly, and Bucky thought his heart might burst. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened, dropped his head to Steve’s chest and swallowed several times before he exhaled a shaky breath.

He didn’t deserve Steve’s forgiveness.

He didn’t deserve Steve’s acceptance.

He didn’t deserve Steve’s love.

He didn’t deserve _Steve_.

But somehow he had them all.

They’d never have a second chance at their first time, but this was damn close, and Bucky would do everything he could to make that up to Steve. He was never good with his words, not like Steve, but he could show Steve how he felt. He could show Steve what he meant to him.

Slowly, reverently, he slid his hands up Steve’s sides, pushing the shirt along as he went. He kissed every inch of Steve’s torso as it was exposed, until the shirt came off and he reached his lips, and the kiss they shared this time was soft, but no less heated for all its tenderness.

Steve’s hands tugged at Bucky’s shirt, and it was just as carefully removed, with Steve’s hands caressing every ridge of muscle, tracing every scar. Shoes were kicked off, and then their bodies untangled, just long enough for the remainder of their clothing to be shed before they came together again. Bucky worked back down Steve’s body with hot, open-mouthed kisses leading straight to that beautiful cock, and he took it in slowly, savoring the salty tang, the velvety texture, the way he twitched when Bucky hummed his pleasure, and the harsh exhale, the moan of pleasure that came from Steve when he hit the back of Bucky’s throat.

Bucky knew what he was doing—he hated how he’d come by this skill set, but by God, he’d use it to his advantage to make this the most amazing experience of Steve’s life—and took his time, allowing Steve to feel everything, take it all in, as Bucky worked him, hollowing his cheeks as he pulled back, swirling his tongue around the head, using his hand in rhythm with his mouth.

Steve squirmed beneath him, his breath coming faster, moans and whimpers escaping him as he clutched at the bedding. Bucky loosened his jaw, swallowing past his gag reflex, and then it happened.

“Shit, Bucky, Buck—!”

Steve’s hips snapped up as the orgasm tore through him, driving him deep into Bucky’s throat. Bucky heard wood splintering and looked up to see one of Steve’s hands on the bed frame, knuckles white, the other hand in his mouth as he bit down on his knuckles to keep himself quiet. The action mirrored a memory— _false memory,_ Bucky reminded himself—so accurately that he wondered if Steve had done it reflexively, or because Bucky had written about it. Either way, he was determined to hear Steve’s screams with the next one.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you hungry?” Bucky asked from his position lying on Steve’s chest.

“Are you shitting me right now, Buck?”

Bucky smiled and pressed a kiss to the place above Steve’s heart before lifting his head.

“Just checking. You’ve been taking abysmal care of yourself, and you did just exert a decent amount of energy.”

Steve held his chin with a hand, thumbing over Bucky’s bottom lip.

“You can feed me after you make love to me.”

Bucky paused as he was about to catch Steve’s thumb between his teeth. He’d been content to give Steve the blowjob and then simply lie there together, basking in the simple joy of Steve tracing a lazy path up and down his back with his fingertips. He was prepared to take this as slow as Steve wanted or needed, spread it out over the course of the night, or even several days.

Apparently, Steve had other ideas.

After everything that Steve had learned, and what Bucky had done, he certainly wasn’t going to push for anything from Steve. He thought he’d known, but now realized that he had no idea what was real and what wasn’t anymore in his head when it came to Steve. His brain had decided to create one hell of a coping mechanism all those years ago—at least, that was the option Bucky wanted to believe in, and not that HYDRA had implanted the memories for some unknown reason—and he didn’t trust himself to not hurt Steve again. He wasn’t about to do anything without Steve’s explicit consent.

“You’re sure?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, glaring at him.

“You gonna make me repeat myself? Cuz that’s a good way to give a guy a complex, you know. I’m already afraid that you’re afraid to touch me again, and then you go and offer me food after that blowjob instead of moving on to other things, and then question me when I ask you to make love to me?”

Bucky dove forward, kissing Steve for all he was worth, heedless of the few tears once again escaping his eyes.

“You’re so maddeningly perfect, you know that?”

Steve blushed, even as his brows drew together in confusion.

“I am afraid, yes,” he admitted, and rushed to add more before Steve could cut him off. “I’m afraid you don’t _want_ me to touch you like that again. I’m afraid of overstepping, pushing for more than you’re willing to give, because I don’t trust myself to not get carried away in the heat of the moment again. What’s in here—” he tapped the side of his head, “—is very convincing. So yeah, you’re in charge for a while. I’m not going to do anything that you don’t ask me to.”

Steve’s eyes closed, and he pulled Bucky down, held him with their foreheads pressed together for a long moment.

“Know and understand this, Bucky. You did _not_ hurt me our first time. I _did_ want it to happen, though I would have preferred the bed instead of the shower. I _do_ want you to make love to me, right now, today, and for the rest of our lives. I want you to forgive yourself, because from where I stand, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek.

“How did I end up with someone like you?” Bucky whispered, barely able to breathe, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears nearly drowning out what Steve had to say.

“Hey, this is all your fault. You’re the one who stepped in front of that fist all those years ago. You picked me, pal.”

Bucky laughed lightly, the seriousness of the mood broken.

“And it was the best decision of my life.”

When they kissed again, Steve’s hands slid down to Bucky’s hips and gripped his ass firmly, holding them tightly together as he rocked up.

“Hmm, I had wondered about that,” Bucky said as he reached between them and stroked Steve’s rock hard cock. “I know that without drugs it usually takes a few rounds before I’m fully spent and satisfied, which was new after the fall, so I’m assuming it has to do with the serum. I figured you probably had that side effect, too.”

Steve cleared his throat, clearly slightly embarrassed about what he was about to say.

“I—I honestly don’t know. How many, I mean. I—I never tried...”

Bucky made no attempt to hide his delight as Steve left the sentence unfinished. The information sent a thrill through him, and he looked forward to the day that Steve took him, used him, made a sloppy mess out of him as he filled him over and over.

Christ, but HYDRA had fucked with his head something fierce. Although, he was pretty sure he’d have let Steve do that at any point in time, even before the fall, before the serum.

In the meantime, he knew there were plenty of other ways to try to exhaust Steve.

“Well then, I think it’s about time we find out, don’t you?”

The sound that escaped Steve’s lips nearly tipped Bucky over the edge. A moan of desire, a sigh of relief, a gasp of pleasure, all rolled into one, a sound so _filthy_ coming from the oh so _pure_ Captain America.

“How far have you gotten?” Bucky asked, while running his thumb through the slit at the head, gathering up the drops of pre-come there to slick his palm.

“Th—three,” he admitted.

“And what were you thinking about, to get to three?”

Bucky’s own cock ached for release, and he shifted his hips, slid himself alongside Steve, and took them both in his hand.

“You,” Steve gasped, fingers digging into his side hard enough to bruise.

“What was I doing?”

“You, uh, we— _Christ, Bucky—_ in France. The night, we— _God—_ it was so cold, and we shared the bed for— _fuck, yes like that—_ and we almost, then, we were kissing— _oh God don’t stop don’t stop don’t—Bucky!_ ” Steve’s back arched off the bed, closing the small amount of room between them, trapping Bucky’s arm. He cried out, a deep moan rumbling through his chest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky hissed, following on the heels of Steve’s orgasm with his own. He remembered that night, too, although at Steve’s words he now saw two versions of it: the one Steve remembered, where Dum Dum—aptly named at times, Bucky thought—had interrupted them, and the one his brain had created, where they _had_ gone through with it.

Bucky let himself relax, his hips following Steve’s down, reluctant to part just yet. His hand and their stomachs were a mess, but the softness of Steve’s face in the afterglow was a sight that Bucky wanted to see forever. His lids fluttered open, and Bucky smiled down into the sky-blue depths.

“Did I ever tell you how much I used ta jus’ stare at the sky when they’d take me out, if I wasn’t actively working? I never could figure it out, because if it was cloudy or whatever I wouldn’t do it. Only when it was sunny and clear. But now I know why. I only did it when it was the same color as your eyes.”

Steve exhaled a shaky breath, like Bucky had just sucker-punched him.

“Stay put,” Bucky ordered, giving him a quick kiss. “I’ll grab a towel.”

He jumped up from the bed and crossed the small space.

“Jesus, Bucky. You can’t say shit like that and then walk away.”

“Why not?” he asked, returning with the dampened cloth.

“Why not?” Steve sputtered, sitting up.

“It’s not like I left the room.”

He raised his arm, licking the back of his hand and his fingers before wiping them clean.

“ _Holy fuck.”_

Bucky tracked Steve’s gaze, locked on his hand. Saw the way his pupils dilated, the sudden heaving of his chest. A knowing smirk on his face, Bucky lowered his hand to his stomach and trailed a finger through the mess there. He took another step closer, moving within arm’s reach, as he caught his finger between his teeth.

In a flash, he was on his back on the bed, Steve’s mouth on his abdomen, lapping up their drying spunk. It certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected, but he wasn’t complaining, not with Steve’s head in such close proximity to his cock—something that Steve seemed to be working closer to, slowly, as if trying to make up his mind.

Steve paused, hot breath ghosting over the head. Bucky tried not to move, not make a sound beyond his heavy breathing and his out of control heartbeat. For all his prowess at _giving_ blowjobs, he hadn’t received more than a few, and they were pre-war at that.

Without warning, Steve’s mouth was around him.

Bucky sucked air through his teeth, the sound a cross between a hiss and a gasp.

Steve froze and lifted his eyes to Bucky’s face.

“No, it’s good, I’m good, don’t stop.” He smiled as he threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair, gentle and encouraging. “Jus’ used ta bein’ on the other end, ya know?”

Steve returned his attention to Bucky’s cock. Steve had always been a fast learner and a quick study, and apparently had been taking notes earlier. _God bless an eidetic memory_ , Bucky thought, groaning as Steve did his best to deep-throat him.

“God, Stevie, _fuck,_ so good, oh my gaww...”

Steve ground against the bed as he moved over Bucky, and watching _Steve_ getting off on getting _him_ off, along with the moans coming from him and vibrating through Bucky’s cock, only drove Bucky higher.

“I’m gonna— _ffff...Steeeevvve..._ ” This time the wood snapped fully as Bucky’s metal hand clamped down on it in the same spot Steve had grabbed earlier. Between his legs, Steve’s body shuddered, going limp as he swallowed Bucky down, licking him clean.

“Well, there’s three,” Bucky gasped, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Jerk,” Steve teased, resting his forehead on Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky laughed, tugging Steve upward for a kiss.

“This time is s’posed ta be about you, not me.”

“It’s about _us_ , idiot. And I love how much your Brooklyn shows when you’re relaxed.”

Bucky’s brows quirked together in confusion, and then he realized what Steve was talking about.

“Better’n Russian,” he grumbled, looking away.

Steve wasn’t having it, apparently, because he grabbed Bucky’s jaw and turned his head back, forcing Bucky to look at him.

“I don’t care what language you speak as long as you scream my name like that again.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. _Who knew Captain America was so good at talking dirty?_

“I’m much more interested in hearing you scream mine right now,” he shot back, shifting his hips to roll them over.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“ _Fuck,_ Steve, yes, _ung..._ ” Bucky groaned, his face buried in the mattress.

It turned out that Bucky hadn’t had to wait very long for Steve to take him.

Not even a full twelve hours, to be exact.

Bucky had nearly passed out after his fifth orgasm, collapsing onto Steve’s chest the previous afternoon. Steve had been up to eight. After a handful of hours sleeping tangled together in a sweaty, sticky mess, Bucky had woken and showered. He made dinner, then woke and fed Steve before kicking him into the shower so he could change the sheets so they could really go to sleep for the night—even if it _was_ somewhere near two o’clock in the morning. He’d never been happier to have more than one set of bedding in his life, because the sight of Steve fresh out of the shower, wearing only a snugly fitting pair of _Bucky’s_ boxers, beard now neatly trimmed, had just... _done something..._ to Bucky.

Clearly, food, supplements, rest, and a full-blown loss of virginity were all Steve had needed—even if Bucky had been a bit heavy-handed with the supplements in Steve’s servings.

That and a challenge, of course.

They broke the bed frame completely when Steve made it back up to six. Laughing, they chucked the pieces out the door into the darkness and put the mattress on the floor. Bucky had eyed Steve, then thrown two bottles of lube to the floor as well, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

_“We still haven’t found your limit yet,” he taunted._

_“You sure you’re still not trying to kill me?” Steve jested, pulling Bucky close none the less._

After seven, Steve had gotten quiet.

_“Bucky...after everything...I want to...but I don’t want you to...to think...”_

_“Steven Grant Rogers, if you don’t put your cock inside me soon, I just_ might _kill you.”_

Eight and nine had been face-to-face, Bucky needing Steve to see that he was good, he was fine, he was one hundred and fifty percent Bucky, not the Asset, not forever scarred, not freaked out by the idea of someone being inside him again.

Bucky was genuinely curious what the limit was, if Steve even had one. But beyond that, he was aware that they needed this in order to move forward. Steve had read the notebooks, seen what Bucky had endured. Bucky needed Steve to know that he wasn’t broken, that Steve could still have every part of him, that he wanted Steve like this no matter his past. And Bucky needed to know that _Steve_ wanted _him_ like this, that he wasn’t afraid of Bucky, wasn’t afraid of hurting him, wasn’t afraid that Bucky would hurt _him_.

That was how they’d gotten to this point, how Bucky found himself getting literally pounded into the mattress as the sun rose over the horizon.

_Bucky slid his legs down from Steve’s hips and rose onto his knees._

_“Steve, I love you. But you’re holding back, I can tell. We’ve literally beaten each other nearly to death. You_ know _I can take it. I_ want _you to lose yourself. Shut your damn brain off and just go. Go until you can’t anymore. You won’t hurt me.” Bucky gestured down to his cock, hard and ready to go again. “Look at me. Do I look like I don’t want this? The thought of you having your way with me, knowing that you’re completely and utterly sated, and that_ I _gave that to you_...God, _I can’t even describe how that makes me feel. Please, Steve.”_

_“And what if...what if there_ is _no limit? What then?”_

_Bucky smiled._

_“Then I guess you go until one of us passes out.”_

_“I suppose there are worse ways to die,” Steve mused._

What had started normally enough with number ten with Bucky on all fours— _“Jesus, this feels so good, it’s different,” Steve had commented—_ had grown progressively more overwhelming for Bucky. Eleven came in a wonderfully sweet embrace, Bucky raised and straddling Steve in reverse, his back pressed to Steve’s chest, one arm up and wrapped behind Steve’s head, while Steve murmured soft praises and affections against Bucky’s neck.

That tenderness had nearly broken him.

But then Bucky had fallen to his elbows, Steve with one hand on his hip and one fisted in his hair. That’s when he’d begun to lose track as he started floating in and out of full consciousness from the endorphin haze he was in, thanks to how perfectly Steve was hitting his prostate at this angle and an extra few orgasms of his own.

He was crushed to the mattress when Steve fell forward after yet another orgasm, breathless, and pinned him down. Steve’s arms caged Bucky’s head, and Bucky was thrilled to note the slight tremble in them as he struggled to hold himself up.

“Have I finally worn you out? Callin’ it quits yet?”

“I can do this all day, punk.” Steve punctuated his reply with a snap of his hips.

“ _Ungh,_ Christ, Steve, what are you even up to now?”

“Uh, I think, yeah, that was, um, seventeen?”

“Bullshit.”

“I thought you were keeping track too?”

“That’s a bit difficult when you _—shit, yes, right there—_ are literally making me— _shit shit shit fuuuuuuck—_ see stars,” Bucky gasped, as Steve somehow pulled another orgasm from him.

“Did you really think—” Steve gave a slow roll of his hips and Bucky moaned, the friction of the sheets beneath him too much, the gentleness of Steve not enough—”that I hadn’t noticed?”

“Honestly? I wasn’t sure.”

Steve pulled back until every small stroke he made rubbed over the perfect spot.

“Do you really think that I could be so selfish with you? To take without giving back?”

Bucky could only whimper in protest.

“That it would take me long to figure out what you liked?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if challenging you was a goo— _nnghhh.”_ Bucky broke off with a groan as Steve bottomed out. He could feel and hear what a sloppy mess he was, and knowing that it was _all_ Steve thrilled him. Bucky let himself drift, lost himself in the feel of Steve behind him, Steve repositioning him at his whim, in the simple knowledge that this was _Steve_ and it was _real..._

“Bucky?” Steve’s motions stilled, his voice concerned, a tinge of wariness carrying through on the lilt and twist of the end of his name.

“M’okay.”

“You’re crying.”

Bucky swiped at his face as Steve flipped him to his back.

“It’s good. It’s...happiness, relief...” he flapped his hand loosely, unable to find the words. “Endorphins. Don’t stop. Not hurting. Promise.” Vaguely, he was aware that he wasn’t forming complete sentences, but didn’t care.

“Okay, Bucky. Okay.” He cupped Bucky’s face, thumb stroking over his cheek as he slid in once again. Bucky shuddered, arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders, clinging to him as he rolled them so that Bucky was now riding him.

“ _So afraid,”_ Bucky whispered into Steve’s neck, where he’d buried his face. “So scared. That you’d never find me. That I’d never get away from them. That I’d try to hurt you again. That I’d never be me again. That we’d never be _here,_ like _this...”_ He’s rambling, sobbing, seventy years of anguish and torture and torment tearing themselves from him, and he feels like he’ll never stop crying, never stop, because he had to hold it all in for so long, because if he let it out that made the beatings worse, made the “ _training”_ more extensive.

“ _Shhh,_ ” Steve soothed, holding the back of Bucky’s head, fingers combing through the sweaty mess that was his hair. “I’m never leaving you again, Bucky, I promise. The world keeps trying to tear us apart and we keep coming back to each other. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you,” Bucky choked out. “I love you so much.”

“ _Shhh, it’s okay._ ” Steve pressed soft kisses to his temple, and the irony of their role reversal is not lost on him. Bucky was always the one patching Steve up, and now here he was, soul raw and scarred and bared, being tenderly pieced back together by Steve. Eventually the breakdown ends, the tears stop.

“God, I’m such a mess.” Bucky laughed lightly as he raised his head to look at Steve, who hasn’t removed his hand from holding Bucky’s head. The weight of it there is comforting to him, and he’s thankful for it.

“Like I’m all that much better?”

“Two broken old relics, trying to make their way in the world.”

“As long as they’re together, they can do anything,” Steve says, eyes soft as he gazes up at Bucky.

“Except wear you out,” Bucky taunts, rolling his hips, grinding his ass down on Steve’s cock. Said extremity immediately twitches, quickly returning to fully hard and ready to go.

“Bucky,” Steve says, admonishment carrying in his tone.

“Nobody has passed out yet,” he reminds him.

“At this point, do you really think that won’t be you?”

_“I suppose there are worse ways to die.”_ Bucky throws Steve’s own words back at him, knowing—always knowing—which buttons to push and how.

“And you said _I_ was the troublemaker,” Steve growls as he effortlessly slams Bucky back down onto the mattress and nearly bends him in half. Bucky’s legs are pushed back, his knees practically at his ears, and Steve is deep inside him, hips crashing together hard enough to bruise.

Bucky loves every bit of it.

He loves the way Steve’s face scrunches up, eyes squeezed tight, when his orgasms first hit him, before he opens them and looks at Bucky with such fire in the depths, blue the shade of the deep ocean, darkened by lust and desire.

He loves the weight of Steve collapsing onto him while he catches his breath in between.

He loves the feel of Steve’s hand on his cock, breath hot in his ear, as he coaxes another orgasm from him— _come, Bucky, come on, one more, come for me, come_ with _me, I know you can, yes, that’s it..._

He loves the groans, the pants, the gasps that come from him, the way his name whispers across those full lips.

It’s the last thing he hears before he does, in fact, pass out.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Sorry for the delay in getting this posted, had some real life issues get in the way :/ BUT, this is it! I'm posting the last two chapters tonight! Thanks to everyone who's been following along! :)

Bucky woke slowly.

The days that he woke like this were small miracles in themselves, and he cherished each night that he _didn’t_ have a nightmare. There were few enough that he could count them on his fingers.

The reason for his first peaceful sleep in ages is currently sitting a few feet away, hunched over the table, notebook open, pencil in hand. Bucky can tell by the way Steve’s tongue is curled over the corner of his upper lip that he’s drawing, and struggling with some particular detail.

“If that’s me, sleeping, we’re gonna fight.”

Steve’s eyes flick to Bucky and then back to the paper.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

Bucky shifts to his back with a groan, hiding the wince of pain coming from his lower back and other parts further south.

“Buck, come on!”

“You have an eidetic memory, fucker. You can finish it just fine without me.”

Steve set the pencil down with a huff, stretching out himself before joining Bucky on the mattress. Bucky sees a million questions dancing in Steve’s eyes, though he clearly doesn’t know where to start.

“Never had a morning-after conversation, huh?”

Steve’s cheeks flame, twin spots of red burning bright just above his beard.

Bucky can’t contain his laughter. After everything they’d done in the past twenty-four hours, the things that Steve had said to him while his cock was buried in Bucky’s ass, and this is what made him blush.

“You’re adorable,” he teases, pulling Steve down for a kiss.

“I made coffee,” Steve mumbled. “Wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Well, I cleaned you up as best I could afterwards, and changed the sheets again, it’s good that you’ve got more than one set, remember when that seemed like such a luxury? But we should probably think about getting more, especially if we’re going to, um, like that, again, I mean, if you’re okay with that, and if you’re, you’re not too sore, because I, uh, I um, stop laughing damn it, why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re hilarious. And I love you.”

“I love you, too. Are you going to get up and make breakfast? Or do you want burnt eggs?”

Bucky rolled his eyes in feigned exasperation.

“I swear to God, I will teach you how to cook, even if it’s the death of me.”

“That could take a while.”

“Yup. Good thing I like taking care of you, I guess.”

He can’t hide it when he winces again as he stands, and instantly Steve is apologizing, berating himself for not stopping when he should have.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snaps, and that finally shuts Steve up. Faces inches apart, bodies plastered together, he traps Steve against the counter.

“If you’ll remember, I asked for everything we did. I knowingly pushed you. Because I wanted it. And I enjoyed—I _loved—_ every minute of it. I love the discomfort I feel right now, knowing it’s because you truly enjoyed yourself. I love it, and know that by tonight, I’ll be fine, no pain. It makes me sad that I won’t be reminded of what we shared every time I move the wrong way for the next few days. So make no mistake, I cherish this.”

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve gasps, and despite his misguided guilt, Bucky feels Steve growing hard at his words.

“I know, it seems wrong, after everything HYDRA did to me, that I’d want to be treated like that ever again, want to feel so vulnerable and helpless. But the truth is, I _always_ wanted that from you. At the worst of it, with my brain turned into mush, you were always there. When I broke, my brain let me think it was you, and I endured. I endured because I _wanted_ it to be you pleasing yourself with me, giving me pleasure.”

The pain in Steve’s eyes whenever Bucky talks about his time in captivity will probably never go away, and Bucky accepts that. But they can’t pretend it didn’t happen, that those years hadn’t shaped them both—Steve’s guilt over not returning to look for Bucky and subsequent suicide run with the Valkyrie would eat at him forever, no matter how often Bucky said he forgave him. But if Bucky hadn’t been captured, hadn’t been experimented on, he wouldn’t be here with Steve today.

“God help me, Steve, when I first saw you in this body, that was all I could think about. That we could be together and I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting you. That you were finally as strong outside as you were inside, and that I could finally show you just how much I loved you. I felt so guilty, for wanting you even more after the serum. But you were still you, inside, so I told myself it was okay, because I’d wanted it before, too. So don’t you dare, for one second, feel bad about what we did.”

Steve clung to him, face buried against his shoulder, and when he finally speaks his voice is muffled, but Bucky can still hear every word.

“I was always so jealous, whenever I saw you with a girl. I wanted it to be me. But we couldn’t...I wanted you to be mine.”

“I’ll always be yours, punk.”

Steve lifts his head, rubbing their cheeks together as he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple, and Bucky can feel the dampness of Steve’s silent tears.

“Thank you. I was genuinely concerned when you did actually pass out. I was afraid that now that I’d— _we’d_ —gotten the chance, that I went too far.”

“That was amazing. I won’t even try to lie about it. It was like an out of body experience. But don’t worry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He cupped Steve’s face, thumbs stroking the hair now covering the strong jaw.

“Are you keeping this?” he asks, changing the topic.

“Well, you seem to like it.”

Bucky hummed his assent.

“Should I show you how much I like it?” He fell to his knees with a smirk.

Of course, it was at that moment when the Wakandan version of a phone chimed. Bucky hit the button for audio only.

“What?” he snapped, perhaps a bit harsher than intended when Sam’s voice fills the small tent in greeting.

“Uh, guys? If you’re uh...not otherwise...occupied...Shuri wants you both to come in for a checkup. Since y’all went on some Britney-2007 bullshit and all.”

Bucky looked up at Steve.

“What the hell is he talking about? Who is Brittany?”

Steve shook his head, equally confused.

“Oh my God. I can’t with you two. Emotional Wreck Barbie and RoboCop need to see their doctor. Get your old asses up here. I can’t hold her off any longer.”

“Gotta eat something first. Need some protein.”

“Oh come on, man, why you gotta say it like that?”

“Because I hate you?”

Steve’s hand slams over Bucky’s mouth, inadvertently covering part of his nose as well.

“We’ll be there in an hour.”

Bucky’s hands tighten on Steve’s thighs, inching ever higher even as he struggles to breathe, completely at his mercy.

And completely turned on.

Steve is nothing if not a quick learner, and an observer of details. A quick appraisal and he’s clearly caught on to Bucky’s predicament. His eyes undergo the most amazing transformation as he holds Bucky’s gaze, going from relaxed and open to dark and hard, pupils dilated, in the span of just a few—and very fast—heartbeats.

“Sam? Make that two hours.”

Bucky nearly came from the promise laden in those words.

Without waiting for Sam’s response, Steve cut the connection and stepped closer to him, forcing Bucky’s head back at a painful angle.

“Now I know why they kept you muzzled. You don’t know how to use your mouth properly, do you?”

Bucky wasn’t proud of the way he reacted to the shift in Steve’s demeanor, or the whimper that came from him at the words, because he knew just how fucked up it all was. But that didn’t stop any of it from happening, or the joy he felt as Steve’s cock pushed past his lips.

 


	16. Chapter 16

EPILOGUE

 

“Do we really need this much space?” Steve asks as he checks out the house Bucky had picked. The tent was great, but too small for the two of them to live in full time. Steve’s rooms were too central, with too much commotion, too many people for Bucky at times. So they’d decided on getting a place on the outskirts of the city, but not as remote as the borderlands.

“Why not? This way we can have pets.”

“We are _not_ having goats here, Buck.”

“Punk. I meant a cat or a dog.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his disbelief clear on his face. Bucky just smiles back at him, his excitement clear. It’s difficult to keep up the ruse, because Steve is just as happy as he is. It had taken several months for them to work up the courage to ask T’Challa about a house. While their relationship was the worst-kept secret in Wakanda, they hadn’t publicly acknowledged it by officially living together or with displays of affection outside of their friends. Old habits died hard, and despite everything, they were, in fact, old. Growing up in a repressive culture and waking up in an accepting one—for the most part, there were, of course, people who still didn’t accept it—didn’t make it any easier for them to be open with their sexuality.

T’Challa had simply smiled, and in his soft voice, informed them that he already had several options for them, he’d only been waiting for them to ask. Steve had left the choice up to Bucky, as he’d be happy anywhere as long as he was with him.

Bucky had been working closely with Wanda and Shuri, clearing away false memories and restoring more and more of himself as a result. But the nightmares remained, as Bucky gradually slept longer and more deeply each night. Steve had found Bucky sleepwalking during some of the more intense ones—lashing out at objects, fighting an invisible target—and as a result Bucky still feared hurting someone, and wanted space between them and the neighbors.

The house he’d chosen for them had plenty of land around it, and large interior rooms with a pretty open floor plan. Steve still didn’t understand why Bucky had chosen one with three bedrooms, until he started opening doors. He’d been away on an extended op with Nat and Wanda, and had told Bucky to go ahead and move all their stuff in and set it up however he wanted.

Behind the first door, he finds a small home gym, some weights and heavy bags, and an open area in the middle for sparring, complete with a dummy.

Door number two houses a den/art studio. Bucky had set up a drawing table and an easel for Steve, with bookshelves and comfortable looking chairs filling the remaining space.

“Oh, Bucky...”

Bucky’s arms slide around Steve’s waist as he hugs him from behind.

“This way it’s all organized for you and not spread all over the house.”

“You say that like I had any other option in our tiny apartment,” he says, laughing.

Bucky pressed a few soft kisses to the side of Steve’s neck. Steve sighed happily and leaned back into him, not surprised to find that Bucky is rock hard.

“God, I missed you,” he said, threading his fingers through Bucky’s. It still amazed him to encounter two warm hands, one soft and one hard. His shield was always cool to the touch, but Bucky’s arm was always the same temperature as the rest of his body. Shuri really was a damned genius.

“I had to stay here, you know that.”

Steve hummed in agreement, trying not to think about the constant stress and tension he’d felt for the last month as they started slowly working with Rhodey and Tony, rebuilding the trust and camaraderie they’d once had. Steve refused to leave Wakanda if he couldn’t take Bucky with him, and it was going to be a long, uphill battle to get Bucky cleared to return to the States.

As it was, Steve was barely off the “arrest on sight” list.

“Come on. I saved the best for last. I’ve been dying for you to get home. I haven’t used it yet. I’ve been waiting for you. FYI, our couch is super comfy for sleeping on.”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

“What, sleeping?”

“No. _Home_.”

He turns his head to catch Bucky’s mouth. The man had literally thrown himself into Steve’s arms and wrapped around Steve like a cat to a tree, kissing him long and deep in the hangar the moment he’d stepped clear of the jet, as if they were teenagers. Nobody had commented on it, but he’d seen the smiles on their faces.

Without relinquishing his hold on Steve’s waist, Bucky pulled and pushed Steve to the end of the hall until they were in front of what could only be their bedroom.

“Open it,” Bucky prodded, and Steve could feel the excitement and anticipation radiating from him. “No, wait, close your eyes.” He worms his way between Steve and the door and waits until Steve obediently closes his eyes before opening the door and dragging him inside. Steve couldn’t begin to imagine what Bucky had done, but the possibilities his mind supplied certainly were enticing.

“Okay, now.”

“ _Oh._ ”

Steve was momentarily speechless at the sight of the king sized bed.

“Wow.”

He eyed the two bedside tables and headboard, all a beautiful light oak color. He can’t fathom how Bucky has managed to get an oak bedset to Wakanda. The headboard was slotted, with spacing large enough for hands to grab onto. _Or restraints,_ he thought, noting two small straps just barely visible at the sides, straps that seemed to disappear and connect to something (or nothing) behind the head of the bed. It was something they’d talked a little bit about it; Bucky wanted to try it but was worried about having flashbacks. The tent had been deemed a bad place to experiment with that, and he’d been hesitant about doing it at Steve’s place.

“Bucky, this is...it’s gorgeous. But I’m just...won’t we have the same problem as always?” He didn’t want to hurt Bucky’s feelings. He truly loved the house, the obvious care and attention that Bucky had put into everything was overwhelming. But regular beds and marathon supersoldier sex didn’t go well together, as they’d quickly learned after three broken beds in two months.

Bucky looked at Steve, a smirk on his lips as he raises his arm and raps metal knuckles against the frame. The distinct sound of metal on metal, _vibranium against vibranium—_ Steve would know that sound anywhere—hits his ears.

Steve sucked in a deep breath, adrenaline flooding his system.

“Everything in this room,” Bucky says, slowly and deliberately, stalking Steve like prey, “is made of vibranium.” Steve’s heart began to race, and by the time Bucky has stopped directly in front of him, he is hard and more than ready to test what will happen when Bucky is grabbing that bed frame with all his cybernetic might.

Bucky’s gaze roams over Steve’s black combat suit. Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t left it on for a reason. He’d planned to surprise Bucky at the tent, hadn’t expected him to be at the hangar when they returned, and least of all for him to have picked out and furnished and moved them into their new place in less than a month, but he probably should have known better.

Regardless, he was quietly, intentionally, fulfilling one of Bucky’s fantasies.

Given the way Bucky’s heart rate and breathing matched his own, he hadn’t failed to realize it, either. The look on Bucky’s face told him everything, told him exactly what Bucky wanted. He swallowed hard before speaking again, grey-blue eyes turned up to his, desire and lust blatantly on display as he draped himself over Steve’s body.

“What do you say, soldier? Can I help you unwind after such a _hard_ mission? _”_

Steve’s lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile, to maintain the gruff demeanor. He heaved a sigh.

“It was _very_ hard. I thought it would _never_ end.”

“You poor thing. Let me get you out of this and help you feel more comfortable.”

Steve murmured his thanks against Bucky’s lips.

“That is so kind of you. That would _please me_ greatly.”

Once stripped of his uniform, he lets Bucky guide him to the bed. And as he is encased by the familiar heat of Bucky’s mouth, Steve has one thought in his head: _home_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my irl bestie The_Reverend, for first dragging me onto this ship, and then into the dumpster, and for doing the beta work on this fic! Surprisingly, I was much more terrified of writing for the MCU/Stucky fandom than for Hannibal, and her feedback was much appreciated! I'm sure there will be more Stucky coming from me in the future, because these two idiots are too much fun to write. :)


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